When All Is Said And Done
by Glitterpixie
Summary: How exactly will the Voldemort/Harry feud end, and what will be the side effects of the battle? It's majorly Ginny/Draco or G/D, with bits of Harry/Hermione (H/H) and Angelina/Fred (A/F) worked in. Ron also has a few cameos, along with Cat-Minnie, and G
1. Death Becomes Him

  
It all came to a head on Christmas Eve. Wizards and witches all over the world would look at that as being some sort of "poetic justice." Ballads and epics would be written about it. For the thirteen people at the Burrow that year, there was nothing poetic. Just a flash of light, and then chaos.  
  
It seemed like every Christmas since Ginny had left Hogwarts 7 years ago. All of them, with the exception of Charlie, gathered around the fireplace at the Weasley's, sipping hot buttered rum around the fire. Charlie was observing dragons in Norway as he usually did during the winter months. They talked about those who had fallen and about those who had shown their true colors. They never talked about who was next. It was too painful to guess, much too terrible to be wrong about it, even worse to be right. If there was one thing the wizarding community had learned in the past 11 years, it was that You-Know-Who was unpredictable at best. With his return to power had come death, and terror. Thousands of witches and wizards had thought that Harry Potter would save them. Thousands were wrong.  
  
They hadn't known that then, though, and had just continued with Christmas as they always had. Mrs. Weasley had started on her tirade earlier than expected this year, so all were on a bit on edge.  
  
"Honestly Bill. If you'd just let me trim it a bit," she began at the dinner table. Bill, who had heard this line quite enough just rolled his eyes and came back with his old stand-by about the goblins not particularly caring how long his hair was. Fred and George began to laugh, and Neville began to look nervous. Generally the more the twins laughed, the longer he spent as some sort of creature.  
  
"This is no laughing matter!" Mrs. Weasley continued. "For Pete's sake, I've got seven grown children, and not a single grandchild in the bunch! It took years to get Fred and George serious enough to marry their girlfriends, and I've just about given up hope on Ron."  
  
Ron began to look a little pink. His life as a confirmed bachelor had irked Mrs. Weasley terribly, but he wasn't about to give it up for her. He stared at the wall, hoping that if he was unresponsive the tirade might pass to Ginny or back to one of the others.  
  
"-And it's in all the papers. I overheard the Patils when you're father took me to that nice restaurant for my birthday," she began to mimic Mrs. Patil's rather nasal inflection. "'Honestly, dear! I can't see how Molly'd be daft enough not to notice her own son was having a relationship with a full-fledged veela!'"   
  
Her voice rose in both pitch and decibel. Pretty soon the whole thing had Mrs. Weasley so worked up that she'd stormed off to the attic. To Ginny it seemed her mother rather liked the attic, considering she spent so much time there.  
  
"It seems the ghoul will have good company tonight," Mr. Weasley muttered. "I'm off to bed, see that you try not to anger her too much tomorrow, all right?"  
  
The group nodded their assent as a whole. Mr. Weasley tired easily these days, his job at the ministry had taken its toll. He'd retired years ago, with full benefits, due to a nasty little incident with a Death Eater while the ministry had been building the new prison. Dumbledore had been right. The dementors had allied with You-Know-Who in a heartbeat, and a new prison was built, one where the dementors would never serve.  
  
They sat in silence for awhile. Angelina was sitting on the arm of Fred's chair, one arm about his neck, the other playing with his hair. Her brother, who was usually planning something to harass Percy or Neville, was looking up at his wife with an incredibly goofy grin on his face. He absolutely radiated contentment, much like a cat sitting on a warm hearth. Ginny envied him. He was absolutely sure of his love for Angelina and her love for him. Ginny wanted that certainty. She wanted to know if she was supposed to settle down and get married to Neville, wanted to know that when she opened the present she knew she was getting tomorrow, she would say "yes." That certainty was just out of her reach though. She knew Neville loved her with all his heart, knew that he'd do anything in his power just to please her. Unfortunately, she also knew that in her heart she saw Neville as much more of a friend than a husband, much more of a confidante than a lover.  
  
"I daresay Dumbledore will appoint someone soon. He can't be both honorary Minister and Headmaster for very long, not now that McGonagall's gone," Percy began, snapping Ginny out of her contemplative revelry.  
  
"Perce," Ginny cut in. "She's not really gone, just different."  
  
"Well, I'd have to say that she can't run Hogwarts if she's stuck as a cat, now can she?"  
  
Minerva McGonagall had been a permanent cat for a few months now. There was supposedly no cure for the curse, which had left her stuck in her animagus form. She lived in Ginny's flat in the residential area of Diagon Alley, and seemed to have adjusted quite nicely. When Fudge had stepped down as Minister, Dumbledore had been offered the title. He'd rejected it, but agreed to act as Minister until the new year dawned, and a new Minister could be appointed. Percy was in a position of great power at the Ministry, head of International Magic Relations, and seen by many as having both the drive and the power to become Minister. Ginny was completely opposed to the idea, because as head of Magical Games and Sports, she wasn't exactly keen on the idea of Percy being her superior.   
  
There was a sound from the wall clock as 13 hands rotated. Before, the hands had merely indicated that all were "home." Now they read "mortal peril."  
  
Neville squealed as a great blast came from the kitchen. All of them watched as Death Eaters swarmed in, encircling the twelve in the living room. A hush overcame the room as their master entered. Voldemort looked quite pleased with himself.  
  
Harry began to stand pulling his wand out, to protect his friends, the people he'd come to know as family. It wasn't quick enough. Before anyone could fully comprehend what was happening, Harry was laying against the stone tile on the hearth, his wand in Voldemort's hand, and a trickle of blood creeping from the corner of his mouth.  
  
He was wakened seconds later by Voldemort. He was bound hand and foot to one of the armchairs, and he noticed that each of the Death Eaters was now holding two wands. He knew then that it was hopeless. They were all trapped here, without wands, without hope of escape, and they were going to die, unless something miraculous happened. Maybe he could save the others.  
  
"Let them go Voldemort," he growled in what he hoped was a menacing tone.  
  
The monster tilted its head, and looked at him more closely. There was a gleam in his eye, a shine that proudly proclaimed that he knew something Harry did not.  
  
"Tell me boy," he said in a mocking tone. "Does it always have to be about you? Perhaps I am not here tonight to dispose of you, but one of the others. Although with the death of a Potter there always comes a bonus..." He smiled. "You have your mother's eyes, and your father's sense of self-importance. I wonder if that's such a good thing."  
  
He turned to look at the others, huddled together against the far wall. He seemed to be searching for something. His snakelike eyes narrowed on Neville.  
  
"Well, hello there. Fancy meeting you at the Weasleys' of all places," Voldemort said in mock surprise. Then he resumed on a more serious note. "The reward on the information you carry is quite high Neville. I daresay you've tried you're best to be a good Secret Keeper, to make mummy and daddy proud. But I don't suppose anything could do that. Word is they can't even recognize you. I suppose that's rather fortunate though, seeing as you've messed everything up. Pity you'll make a mess of this, too. When word comes that you've gotten the last of the Potters killed by your ignorance, along with all of the Weasleys, well, I can't possibly imagine you having a reputation as good as Sirius Black's after all this."  
  
Neville stiffened visibly at the mention of his parents. He, like Harry, owed his orphaned   
existence to Voldemort. In Neville's case however, he lived with the torment that his parents were mad, rather than dead. In fact, his parents had been getting steadily worse the past few years, leaving both Neville and Ginny to wonder if they wouldn't just be better off dead.   
  
"No one will think that. They'll know I tried to save them," countered Neville. "I may not be a very good wizard, I'll give you that. But I wanted them to live, and that's all that counts."  
  
Ginny stood, and stepped out in front of Neville, her posture exuding defiance. "He's a good person, Voldemort, and it's a great deal more important than being a   
good wizard."  
  
A gasp erupted from the Death Eaters. No one stood up to Voldemort. The last minutes of life Voldemort left you with were full of pleading, and begging. That was just the way things were done. And little Ginny Weasley, who at twenty-five still had a little button nose, had dared to utter his name.  
  
Then Percy stood, his voice striking out into the silence that had fallen. "You dare to disrupt Christmas at the future minister of Magic's home?"  
  
This time they all gasped. George slapped his forehead in a physical manifestation of what they all were thinking. How, exactly, had Percy's ego gotten so big that he would annoy Voldemort? While it was an outstanding show and a good bit of hubris, it didn't have quite the effect Percy had hoped.  
  
Voldemort laughed. It was the most terrifying sound any of them had ever heard. "You are an amusing bunch, to be sure. But I grow weary of this. Lucius, you may play with Neville as you like. Perhaps he shall reveal his little secret to us. Take him out to the backyard, perhaps the garden gnomes would like to play, too."  
  
One of the Death Eaters came forward, and lead Neville to the backyard. Percy was standing to the side of the room, cowering in the corner by the dustbin. Voldemort raised his wand, as Percy straightened.  
  
None of them could quite remember what happened next, only that Percy was suddenly holding a wand, and none of them knew why. Then that the words Avada Kevadra were uttered by two people. And when the ashes cleared, one lay dead amongst the scraps of paper from presents that had been destroyed in the blast, and one lay dead in the yard, with only the garden gnomes for company. When the death toll was finally counted, it totaled ten. Owls covered the sky like a great canopy, giving forth the news: 10 dead, and Harry Potter hadn't saved a one of them.  



	2. Kiss Him Goodbye

Disclaimer: Characters and places in this story belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
  
  
"But Angelina, surely you can tell me! I'm your oldest friend," crowed Parvati. Parvati's head, rather, as she was talking through the fireplace in the small house Fred had bought with his first million from Weasley Wizard Wheezes. It had been a week since the incident, and everyone wanted a piece of what they considered the story of the century.  
  
"Angie! This is bigger than the boy who lived is! My network is considering shooting a movie; we'll buy the rights, of course. We're giving it the tentative title 'The Man Who Died!' Run it by those relatives of yours, eh?"  
  
"Really Parvati, can you be daft enough to think that I'd want to talk to you at a time like this. I'm busy enough as it is, and I need to go somewhere with Fred. I'll give you a ring in a few years, when everything settles down, all right?"  
  
Parvati's head began to shrink in the fireplace as Fred walked into the room.  
  
"Hello, love," he greeted her. "Who was that?"  
  
"Another 'old friend' in the gossip business," she sighed.  
  
"Me and George will have to send the lot of them care packages when this is all over."  
  
"George and I, darling," she corrected him automatically.  
  
"George and you, what?" He asked. They played this game quite a bit. She would correct him and he would be deliberately daft about the correction. He sipped his coffee, waiting for the next part of their usual routine. She usually said something about how she and George were out to correct all the papers of all the school children in England.  
  
"Are having a torrid love affair," she finished apologetically as he spit coffee on the floor. It was nice to keep things fresh. "You were severely misinformed when your mother told you that you were completely identical. George is much better in bed."  
  
"That's it, wife," he said as he sat his mug on the coffee table. "You've enraged me to the point where I'm going to have to do something drastic."  
  
"What exactly would that be?"  
  
"Tickling."  
  
Angelina's eyes grew wide. She was horrifically ticklish, and Fred knew it. Her knee banged into the coffee table as she backed away from him. He was advancing quickly, only a few feet away now and she sprinted to the doorway.  
  
Rather, she sprinted near the doorway, until she tripped on the rug and was sent sprawling to the floor. She cried out and Fred rushed to her.  
  
"Are you hurt?" He asked, suddenly the concerned husband and not the jokester.  
  
"Nothing sprained but my pride," she assured him.  
  
"Good," he smiled. "Because I've got you trapped now. I'm giving you one final warning. If you say 6 little words I'll go easy on you."  
  
"I'm sorry and I love you?" She tried.  
  
"Nope. 'Fred's a tiger in the sack.'"  
  
"I am not saying that."  
  
"You will or you'll get tickled within an inch of your life."  
  
She said it.  
  
Eventually.  
  
  
George sighed as he stepped out of the fireplace and into his house. He only had time for a quick shower before he had to be back at his Parents. He'd been busy with the rest of the family trying to get the funerals planned. Neville's grandmum had died a great long time ago, so the Weasleys were handling things. The papers were calling them lucky. "Another Christmas massacre prevented" and all that tripe. It wasn't much comfort to know that they were "lucky" when Percy and Neville were dead. They'd forgotten to owl Pen, what with all the medi-wizards and aurors flying and apparating all over the place.   
  
From what they'd discerned, it had happened something like this: Percy had recalled Fred and George hiding his wand earlier, and while cowering found it poking him in the rear when he'd accidentally sat on the dustbin. He'd grabbed it, and quite simply administered Avada Kevadra on Voldemort. Or not simply, rather. Voldemort had done the same thing, and there they were. Percy dead, Voldemort dead, and the rest of them staring at a dead body and a thing on the floor, which they could only assume, were the remains of Voldemort. The Death Eaters had fled, picking up their robes and scampering like so many ninnies away from the scene. Mr. Weasley had called the ministry before much had happened, and seven Death Eaters had been killed trying to escape. Lucius Malfoy, both Senior and Junior Crabbe and one of the Goyles had been among them. Neville had been found in the yard. Strike that. What was left of Neville had been found in the yard. Evidently, the information Neville had possessed was quite important, and Lucius hadn't wasted time trying to pry it out of him. The garden gnomes were running about cackling wildly and generally making a mess of things.  
  
Pen had shown up at the door later that evening, when the Weasleys and the rest of them were heading to Diagon Alley to get away from all of it. When she saw them all about to step into the fireplace and Percy not there, her face fell.  
  
"He's gone on ahead, has he?" She queried. "I did hope to talk to him about..."  
  
She broke off as Mrs. Weasley began to cry again.  
  
"Oh. Well then." Pen's bottom lip began to tremble, as a child's does when they're trying to be brave. "I need to..."  
  
She left then, disapparated right out of the living room, without even finishing her sentence. She'd called George and Alicia the next day and told them she'd like to give a eulogy. She'd known it was unusual, an ex-wife doing the eulogy, but she felt she owed him that much.  
  
So here they were, a week later. The family and friends of Percy, dressed all in black dress robes, gathered around the living room of the Burrow. They weren't there just for Percy, but for Neville, and for all that'd died in the great period of darkness.  
  
Ginny sat crying with her handkerchief dabbing at her eyes every other moment, waiting for Pen to start the whole thing off.   
  
"I know that many of you hate me," Pen began. "Because I left the man who saved us all." A tear began to slide down her cheek. "I didn't know then, none of us did. We just knew that he behaved like a great insufferable git. I won't say Percy was a good husband. He was just as poor of a husband as I was a wife, and it was a part of him. But he was a good person, a good friend to have on your side. I loved him, as all of you did. And I think he'd love to see us all here, sobbing for him, because we never did it in life. Molly was the only one of us who worshipped him. He died thinking we all hated him for his great pomposity, and the Percy I knew would love to see us here eating our words, warbling on about what a great man he truly was, and how we never realized it."  
  
There was silence following this. None of them would have said it, but it was true. Percy had behaved like a great ass, and they had all called him on it daily. Pen was the only one who would say it.  
  
"I know I'm the ex-wife, and I'm supposed to be a bitter old hag, and I am somewhat. But as I said, I loved him, and I'm not going to dishonor his memory by lying about him. So, in conclusion I say to him, to his memory, that I love him and in the end he was much greater than I ever believed him to be."  
  
With that final word, Pen walked up to the graduation picture of Percy on the mantle which was furiously pointing to it's Head Boy badge, and kissed it on the cheek, murmuring "I'll always love you, HB." She then spun on her heel and walked out the door.  
  
  



	3. Working Girl

Disclaimer: Characters and places in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I am in no way profiting from this in any sort of monetary way.  
  
  
  
  
The rest of the wake went off without much of a hitch. Mrs. Weasley was muttering for days about Pen's little "outburst," and many suspected Pen might be receiving a howler sometime in the near future. Everything was surprisingly normal, considering that two of them were dead, and an 11-year reign of terror had ended. It seems callous to outsiders for everything to continue as usual in a situation like that, but when one has suffered through the deaths of friends for years, one becomes a bit complacent about proper grieving periods. It wasn't as if they all just didn't care, more like the rigid structure of things being as usual helped them to cope with the loss. Harry and Hermione went off to see if they could find Sirius and Lupin. While Sirius had been cleared of charges by a very hesitant Fudge years ago, both men had thought it best to keep out of the limelight during Voldemort's reign of terror. Ron was nowhere to be found. Fred and George had just invented a little item tentatively named "smoking soda" and a great lot of people thought that with Percy and Neville gone, Ron might be next up as guinea pig. Others thought that Ron's disappearance might have something to do with a French girl, who was rumored to be part Veela or an Irishman reputed to be a partial Leprechaun. After all, when one remains a bachelor well into their mid-twenties, one does get a bit of bad press.  
  
Ginny's first day back at work was littered with people asking inane questions like "how are you doing," while clicking their tongue in what they hoped seemed a sympathetic tone. There were sympathy cards tacked to her office door, and a great lot of people who merely looked away as she walked down the corridors. She had had quite enough of it, and she hadn't gotten a thing done other than telling crowds of well-wishers that she was doing fine, and that no, she didn't need a tissue or any sort of baked goods. When a knock sounded at her door, she sighed audibly and opened it with a simple charm. She didn't bother looking at the person in the doorframe, merely glanced at the clocks and stared at the memo from the Wimbourne Wasps that sat in front of her.   
  
"Listen," she said to whoever the hell it was that had interrupted her work. "I'm tired, and I need to get my work done. There are loads of things to do here, and that's why I refer to this building as 'work.' If I had wanted to eat a great load of poorly cooked jam on overly yeasted banana bread and cry about 'poor heroic Percy," or 'poor dead Neville' I would have done precisely that at my flat or with my family. I came to work to work, not chatter about how all of you 'wish you could do something,' or 'know what I'm going through.' If that damnable git Percy hadn't died maybe he would have taught me the unforgivable curses that none of us were supposed to be capable of performing, and I could put an end to my misery. I sincerely doubt that the minister..."  
  
She broke off as she finally looked up to see Dumbledore himself looking down at her. He crouched an eyebrow and gave a half smile.  
  
"You sincerely doubt that I would approve of such nonsense, was that what you were going to tell me Miss Weasley?"  
  
"Headmaster," Ginny said, automatically calling him by the title she'd always known him under. Her tone was apologetic. "I mean Minister. I most assuredly did not mean that you were unwelcome..."  
  
"It's quite alright child. I'll be Minister only a short while longer. And I didn't come to give you my condolences. You're needed in my office."  
  
"Right, of course," Ginny nodded and stood up quickly, placing the memo she'd been looking over back into her inbox. "Will we be apparating or do you feel like taking the stairs, Minister?"  
  
"Let's take the stairs. It'll give those old fools upstairs some time to sweat a bit." He waited as Ginny locked her office door and checked to make sure the sign on the window read "out." While the sign was enchanted to know whether Ginny was at the office or not, it had difficulty differentiating between her being out of the building and out of her office, so she double-checked it regularly.  
  
"Miss Weasley, before we leave, I have a rather serious question to ask you."  
  
"Yes, Minister?" she replied. She hoped this wasn't about the frightful row that the Cannons and the Wasps were having. She'd been hoping to put off dealing with that until at least February.  
  
"Were you referring to my jam?"   
  
  
  
When they arrived at the Minister's office, Ginny was quite surprised to find that the rather large office was packed with people. When Dumbledore entered the room a hush fell over the crowd, and Ginny began to wonder what all this had to do with her. A nondescript and rather annoying man who she recalled as Percy's assistant was the first to speak.  
  
"Honestly Dumbledore, Mr. Weasley would never approve of this kind of thing. I think it's absolutely terrible that this..." He looked pointedly at Ginny before continuing. "This girl should be appointed when it's most obvious that the lamp truly meant him, but was confused by the circumstances."   
  
The crowd began to holler again, and Ginny looked around in confusion. All this ambiguity was like having an out of body experience, or what she imagined an out of body experience would be like. She knew that most of the people up here seemed to agree with... Nickel? Was that what his name was? Anyway, they all seemed to be terribly upset about her appointment to.... well to whatever it was. As far as she knew the only job open was Percy's and that would be sort of a lateral move... wouldn't it? Perhaps she'd been given a position on the board of trustees for Hogwarts, after all, Lucius had died... But generally those positions were dynastical, handed down ideally to the oldest son, and that would be Draco. Perhaps something had happened to Draco. No one had seen hide nor hair of him in quite awhile. He was probably lounging about at Malfoy Mansion, living it up with Pansy. It was quite a contrast to her shabby little flat in the Alley. With a life like Draco's she'd never be lonely; friends and beautiful people and loads of money would surround her. I've never been envious of him before, why should I start now? She asked herself. She hadn't really needed to ask herself that. She'd known the answer in her heart as well as her head. His father killed Neville.  
  
She remembered when Neville had asked her to the Yule ball her third year. People in her year had made fun of her, because she was going with "Neville, of all people." She'd gotten to the point where she'd been about to tell him to sod off, that she didn't want to go with the worst wizard ever created. But every time she'd seen his round little face, his smile so great at the sight of her that his cheeks must have ached at night, she'd realized she couldn't break his heart. So she'd convinced herself that she'd try to find good things about him, some sort of redeeming quality. She'd found it ten-fold, in his loyalty, his complete and total faith in her. After you gave him half a chance, his magic wasn't that bad either. Once he'd enchanted the window boxes in her flat because she couldn't keep a plant alive if her life depended on it. Sure, it had taken weeks to trim them down so she could see out the windows, but it had been undoubtedly sweet of him. He'd just needed someone to believe in him. She'd always known that Neville would have died for her. But he hadn't. He'd died because of Malfoy's father and some stupid piece of information...  
  
She was just recalling that. What exactly was all that about? No one else seemed to have cared about it, with their grieving of Percy and celebrating Voldemort's death and all. What could Neville possibly know that would be more important to Voldemort than killing Harry?  
  
Just as she was pondering this, she was interrupted. Dumbledore was looking at her like he expected an answer of some sort. Had he asked a question? Ginny hadn't even realized she'd been addressed.  
  
"Could you possibly repeat that Minister?" She asked sheepishly, wincing a bit.  
  
Nickleby let out a sigh of exasperation. "The bloody infant doesn't even know what we're talking about!"  
  
"She's your senior in both rank and years, and it would do you well not to be fooled by exterior appearances. I know for a fact that one of our most experienced aurors masqueraded for an ottoman for a good week, eventually catching one of the Death Eaters of the Inner Circle..."  
  
Ginny smiled slightly as she remembered Hermione complaining about backaches for a great deal of time after that particular excursion. She'd whined to anyone she could get to listen that Harry wasn't a bit sorry about her pain, telling her that "anything that will keep you in bed for a week is fine by me."  
  
"And another time, the sorting hat folded itself up like one of those Japanese paper birds, right before the start of term, and I found it just in the nick of time..."  
  
"Dumbledore," replied Nickleby in a rather acid tone. "Do get on with it if you please."  
  
"Quite right, lad," Dumbledore replied, straightening his robes. "What I was asking Miss Weasley, is if you think you can carry out the duties that a job like this would entail? Are you ready, mind, soul, body and wand to take on the position of Minister of Magic?"  
  
Ginny promptly fell off her chair.  
  
"Surely you can't let her be the Minister," Nickleby wheedled. "Perhaps we can consult the lamp again, after making sure it is aware of Mr. Weasley's unfortunate passing. I assure you that if it reads Weasley after it has been properly informed. I will abide by its decision." He looked at Dumbledore expectantly.  
  
"Have you no sense whatsoever Nickleby? It seems that every time a decision is to be made by a magical object, something unexpected happens. And when that something happens, you all ask me to make it better by asking the enchanted object again." Dumbledore was beginning to show signs of agitation. "Well this isn't a 'boo-boo' and I can't make it better by running my wand over the top of anything and saying 'Abra Cadabra!' I can't understand how any of you passed a single N.E.W.T without realizing that in times like this, the object goes dormant until it is needed again." His voice was at full roar. "And if you can't abide by that then why not make the damnable decision yourselves? All of bloody muggle Britain is run smoothly and efficiently by Parliament, has been for years! If you want debate about something GO TO THEM!"  
  
With that he flung his wand down upon his desk, and a rubber chicken popped out. Everyone stared, startled by Dumbledore's uncharacteristic outburst, and waiting for heads to roll when he found out who had dared replace his wand with a trick one.  
  
Dumbledore smiled. "It appears that I have grabbed the wrong wand again. Ginny, be a dear and hand me mine, I suspect you shall find it in the cherry cabinet on your right," he motioned with the rubber chicken. "The rest of you can leave. If I hear another word against the new Minister's appointment I shall make sure that each and every one of you gets a care package from those ingenious Weasley boys before the dare is through.  
  
People filtered out into the hall, most of them silent, with rather upset expressions on their faces. A few of them however, gave her rather encouraging smiles, and Ginny was grateful for their presence in the swarm of dissidents. Ginny walked to the cabinet Dumbledore had indicated, and opened it to find a treasure trove of pranks.  
  
"Do you have stock in the three W's?" She asked jokingly.  
  
"Yes," Dumbledore replied matter-of-factly. At Ginny's surprised look he further explained. "Pardon my French, my dear, but your brothers are bloody brilliant, and it only makes sense. But my little collection is for much more practical purposes: for some reason, no one ever suspects me of anything. I once slipped Sybil..." He noticed Ginny's confused expression at his reference. "Er... Professor Trewlawney a canary cream at dinner. Dear old Minnie twitched her nose only once, but I knew she longed to transform and chase her about the table. It would have given her the fright of her life." He smiled wistfully, and he wiped a nonexistent something out of his eye. "How is the old girl?"  
  
"Fine. I'm glad to have her," Ginny responded. "Especially now."  
  
"Yes, I hoped she'd be able to help." Dumbledore took the wand Ginny offered him and conjured a cup of cocoa. "I'd ask you to stay, but by the way you drifted away during that little brouhaha, I suspect you have something on your mind. I'll let you get back to it in a moment."  
  
Ginny murmured her appreciation.  
  
"I'll take care of sending out the press releases and everything. We won't make the change over for a few weeks, so I suggest you take a break until then. You'll have enough to deal with when you take over."  
  
"But I've only just returned," Ginny stammered. "I've still got that business with the Cannon's and the Wasp's to deal with, and I'll have to get my papers in order for the new head!"  
  
"My dear, the Cannons and Wasps can wait. You'll need a clear head to take over this office. You'll be the youngest Minister ever, Miss Weasley, and the first woman. There will be a great deal more of what you saw in this office earlier, and I want you rested and with your mind completely on the task."  
  
Ginny could tell that Dumbledore wasn't going to back down on this issue. She nodded her head. Dumbledore shook her hand, then sat down to drink his cocoa. She turned when he began to speak again.  
  
"Another thing, Miss Weasley. This business that's worrying you. Don't be too afraid to go directly to the source. There wasn't any love lost between him and his father, and he'll be more than interested in what you have to say."  
  
Ginny nodded again as she left. How did he know I was going to go to Draco?  
  
  



	4. The Oubliette

Disclaimer: Characters and places in this story belong to J.K. Rowling.   
  
  
  
Malfoy Mansion stood as a testament to old money and old power. Gargoyles lined it's roof, sneering down upon any that dared trespass. A spiked gate encircled the property, doing a successful job of keeping the riff-raff and the muggles out. Any remotely skilled wizard would have no trouble breaching the walls of security. When they reached the door, however, they would realize their folly. The enchantment on the front door worked with the mind of the master of the mansion. Those who were welcome were greeted by an automatically opening door. Those who were not would be greeted with a scraping sound as the stoop slid into the house, tumbling the unsuspecting visitor into an oubliette or "place of forgetting," where they could rethink their relationship with the master of the house. Most were able to magic themselves out rather quickly. Still, even a few moments in it's oppressive darkness gave them cause to rethink the purposes of their visit.  
  
Draco was sitting in his study, going over some paperwork. He'd found himself doing quite a lot of paper pushing since his father's passing. His mother had died years ago when she'd served the wrong sort of cheese at one of Voldemort's little reunions. It had all seemed terribly tragic at the time. Now... Well when one thought about it, the situation was almost amusing. She'd been crazy as a loon by that time, with all of the abuse she took from Lucius. It was kinder that she die then, rather than suffering at Saint Mungo's now. As for his father's death, he felt only a feeling of great relief. Lucius had been a man of absolutes, and he had died hating Draco absolutely. The feeling was mutual. Draco could never forgive his father for the abuse of his mother or the total lack of caring that Lucius had shown when she'd died. He'd had a look of utter disgust on his face and said something insanely stupid like "The Dark Lord detests common cheddar!" This was only one incident in a plethora of little anecdotes about his father. It wasn't anywhere near the worst. The worst had been with Marigold. He didn't think of those memories for very long, just shut them away deep in his psyche where they couldn't harm anyone.  
  
He stared at the piece of parchment in front of him. It had been written by his father and was a list of sorts entitled "Torture Implements That Must Be Checked Bi-Annually."  
  
"Shit was he twisted," Draco uttered in a low voice. "I suppose I should send someone down there to clean the rubbish out. I can't see myself needing a 'wheel of pain' anytime in the future."  
  
He chuckled a bit, before putting the parchment in the pile he'd made of things to do later. He'd decided to do something that no Malfoy had ever done. Call in the Ministry. He'd go to Normandy for a weekend and have them take all the Dark Arts rubbish away. Sadly, he doubted they'd be willing to come over and play housekeeper. If he could find someone reliable, he'd still have a good weeks worth of work. After all, the house elves had been killed off a long while ago by a pair of drunken Death Eaters, so everything would be on his shoulders.  
  
He had almost finished with his father's papers when he heard a great booming knock, followed by a creaking sound, then a scraping sound, and finally a yelp. Curious, he walked into the foyer to see what exactly was happening. He found the front door open, a great pit where the stoop usually was and a girl clinging onto the door jamb.  
  
"This is not how I pictured this going," the girl grunted as she tried to heft herself up into the house. She seemed unaware of his presence.  
  
Draco just stared.  
  
All of a sudden, the door swung shut, there was a great yelp of pain, followed by a thud, and a scraping sound. Rather than contemplate what had just happened, he rushed to the access stairway to the catacombs. He'd never been anywhere in the catacombs except for the oubliette. He was pretty sure that he didn't wish to wander around aimlessly beneath the house, knowing that with the Malfoy reputation anything could be lurking down there.  
  
When he arrived at the oubliette, he said the password quickly, and bolted into the room. He noticed two things immediately. First, the oubliette was filled with light. She must have gotten her wits about her rather quickly. Second, the girl was astonishingly beautiful. Shortly thereafter he heard one word. "Stupefy!"  
  
  
  
  
  
When he came to he was bound hand and foot. The girl was pacing the oubliette in a quick and angry sort of fashion. She was still shockingly beautiful. Skin like alabaster, so white he could see the delicate tracing of blue veins in her neck. Her hair was red, if you could define the color in one word. It looked to be about a billion shades, from the palest amber to a bright fiery flame, all mixed together, and tumbled across her shoulders in big, soft ringlets. She was very small, standing a good head shorter than him, and much too thin for her own good.   
  
She looked painfully familiar. With all that red hair she was probably related to the Weasleys... Had there been any female Weasley's at Hogwarts? Yes... the youngest was a girl... Ginny. He was almost certain her name was Ginny. Well, his psyche murmured in an acid tone. Now that I know her name I'm most assuredly going to get out of this virtually unscathed! Perhaps if I leer at her a bit more it'll help the situation?  
  
She turned to glance at him with a look that was a mixture of utter hatred and complete confusion. He didn't like her looking at him like that. No one with a little button nose like that should ever look that angry. She continued to glare, and some of the confusion dissipated. It was replaced with a sneer of sorts, as if just looking at him gave her a bad taste in her mouth.  
  
  
"You're awake, are you, Malfoy?" She spit out his name. He really didn't like her doing that.  
  
"Ginny?" He paused for a moment, savoring the way her name felt on his tongue. He shook himself, as much as one who is bound hand and foot can do, and continued. "Is there a reason you've knocked me out and tied me up? I mean," he added with a smirk. "If this is some weird sexual sort of thing, all you had to do was ask..." God Draco? Could you have said anything more inappropriate?  
  
Evidently Ginny felt it was inappropriate too, for she crossed the room and slapped him with a force he hadn't thought her capable of. He watched her shake her hand and mutter a string of expletives that looked extremely ridiculous coming out of a five foot sprite like her.  
  
Draco's brow knitted and a look of concern crossed his face. "You've hurt yourself," he softly chided her.  
  
"I don't slap people all that often, and the door pinched my fingers," Ginny replied in an explanatory air. Her voice quickly changed as she realized who she was addressing, her tone became very indignant. "Why am I explaining this to you? It's your fault, and I'm not the one tied up at the moment, so I get to ask the questions!"  
  
"How is it my fault?"  
  
"I get to ask the questions!"  
  
"Humor me," he replied dryly.  
  
"I'm not going to argue about this forever!" She had the air of a petulant child, and Draco was becoming worried over her sanity. "Alright, Mr. "How-is-it-my-fault." Do you not recall the whole door incident?"  
  
"Oh that!" Draco said. "That's really more of a misunderstanding. I didn't even know it could do that, so it's hardly my fault now is it?"  
  
Ginny looked at him, unconvinced by his logic. "You have a door that opens while the stoop is pulled away, then slams shut forcing a person into a pit of some sort, and you weren't aware?"  
  
"No, no," Draco corrected her. "It usually just does one or the other. I didn't know it could do both at once." At her look of skepticism her elaborated. "The door opens for the wanted and the stoop pulls away for the uninvited. It's really very effective."  
  
She snorted derisively. "Couldn't just the stoop accomplish that? Why have the door open of it's own accord?"  
  
"Ambiance," he replied matter-of-factly. "Look, could we get back to the point behind this whole bondage thing? I've got quite a few things to get done."  
  
"Fine," she replied. "I've only one thing to ask you. Why Neville?"  
  
He was so taken aback by her question he began to answer her honestly. "He understood the situation perfectly and I..." he trailed off as he realized what he was saying. He looked at her suspiciously. Why was she asking him about Neville? God I hope she doesn't work for one of the tabloids... he groaned inwardly. He realized that she was still waiting for an answer, and asked in guarded tones, "Why Neville what?"  
  
She let out an exasperated sigh. "For a moment I thought we were getting somewhere, but I see that went out with us sharing a cup of coffee after all this. What did the man I loved know that was so bloody important it got him killed?"  
  
Draco took a deep sigh. He had known Neville was going to propose to someone this Christmas, had been happy for him. He'd always assumed it was one of the silly ones, like the Brown girl. The old boy did quite well for himself. "Look, Ginny, I'm terribly sorry about Neville's death. He was supposed to be the last person any of them would have looked for, but somehow they must have caught up to him..."  
  
Ginny looked him dead in the eyes. She had truly amazing eyes, eyes that were a rich chocolaty sort of brown, with a ring of dark brown, almost black, around the irises. Eyes that Draco felt he could drown in, if he was ever given half a chance. Right at the moment they were brimming with unshed tears. If I could see them happy just once, I could die and not regret a moment of it. Draco stood a little straighter and mentally shook himself. Now was most certainly not the time to be writing love sonnets about Ginny's eyes.  
  
"Why?" She repeated, her voice and body shaking, as if it were taking every ounce of the energy she possessed to keep her emotions in check.  
  
He answered her simply and honestly, as he knew he should have done in the first place.   
  
"He knew where I was. Neville was my Secret-Keeper."  
  



	5. Revelations

Disclaimer: Characters and places in this text belong to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny stared at him in complete disbelief.   
  
"Why on earth would a dear, sweet man like Neville be in league with a git like you?"  
  
"Neville and I had much more in common then you might imagine."   
  
Ginny gave a humorless laugh. "How?"  
  
He continued, with a note of irritation. "I'm not going to go into all the sordid little details." He stopped when he realized he was talking to the woman who was still mourning her lost love. "Look, I never would have asked him. He offered, and when it came down to it he was the only choice. I mean, who would expect him of it? If I'd thought they could ever have known, I'd have done something. I never thought he'd die, Ginny."  
  
Ginny wasn't listening to Draco's pleas any longer. She sat on the cold floor and leaned her back against the wall, pulling her knees up to her chest.  
  
"It's not true," she said with tears streaming down her face. "He couldn't keep a secret at all. Not from me."  
  
"But her did, Ginny. Think rationally. For the past year Neville's been my only confidant. He must have seemed different."  
  
"But he didn't. Not at all," Ginny replied. She wasn't going to let Malfoy know what an idiot she'd been. She had known something was wrong. In her head she attributed it to the fact that Neville's parents had been growing steadily worse now that Voldemort's evil was unchecked by the Ministry. She supposed she had known on some deeper level that Neville's uncontrollable night terrors were not just about his parents madness.  
  
She drew a great shaking breath, and tried to calm herself. She still had unanswered questions and she wasn't about to let it all go this easily.  
  
"What did you have to hide from?"  
  
He looked at her, his silver eyes glinting with unshed tears. "Crabbe, Goyle, Voldemort." They had all wanted him dead for his "betrayal." He saved the worst for last, the one he'd truly been hiding from. "My father."  
  
"Why?" Asked Ginny. She wasn't crying any longer, and when she spoke the words were cold and crisp. She felt detached somehow.  
  
"In a most general sense, they felt I'd betrayed them, that I'd changed."  
  
"Have you? Have you really changed from..."  
  
"Being a great bloody git?" He finished her sentence. "Yes, I suppose. Neville helped a bit with all that, and some unfortunate events occurred that made me see things a little differently."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I understand the concern over Neville's involvement, but I won't tell you all my secrets Ginny. I've never been an open sort of person, and I doubt that I'll change that anytime soon. Suffice it to say that I had my reasons."   
  
Ginny nodded at him. "I suppose that if Neville saved someone it provides a bit of comfort. If you're good now, like you say, then perhaps he did what he was meant to do."  
  
"I never said I was good, Ginny. I'm just not evil anymore." At her look of pleading her added, "I'll try though. I'll make it so it shan't have been a waste."  
  
Ginny nodded again, and looked at him. "Oh GOD!" She exclaimed in horror.  
  
"What?" Draco questioned, as he looked about. Upon finding nothing wrong, he questioned further. "I haven't grown some kind of hideous facial deformity, have I?"  
  
Ginny didn't take notice of his attempt at humor. "I've tied you up! I knocked you out and then tied you up!"  
  
"Oh well spotted," Draco said dryly. "One would think you're the Minister of Magic with a wit like that."  
  
"I am!" Ginny practically wailed. "I've only just been appointed, and I've gone and mucked it up by doing this. Think of what Mrs. Patil will say around Mum! 'There goes Molly, one child dead, the other certifiably insane...'"  
  
"Well, I've got a novel idea," Draco told her. "Don't tell them about it."  
  
"Well... I can't just leave you here to rot," Ginny remarked.  
  
'That's why my earlier idea of untying me works into the plan so brilliantly..."  
  
"Oh. I suppose if you won't tell..."  
  
"You have my word."  
  
Ginny laughed a little to herself. "I suppose I've gone a bit mad with all the stress..." he waved her wand in his direction. "Finite Incantum."  
  
Draco wiggled his limbs about in an attempt to relieve some of his muscle aches.  
  
"Much better," he smiled at her. "Let me see your hands."  
  
Ginny obeyed without argument, knowing that it was the least she could do after she'd tied him up.  
  
"Not broken, just scraped a bit. There's better light in the study, we'll go there."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I can't see properly down here, and the catacombs have an odd effect on spells. Bad things happen. We're lucky none of yours have backfired. That's why we'll be walking rather than apparating. May I have my wand back?"  
  
Ginny looked at him hesitantly, biting her bottom lip as if trying to decide what to do. Draco was getting irritated again. He was used to people blindly obeying his orders. He'd have to remember that people weren't as easy to order about as house elves were. He stared at her expectantly, waiting for something to happen.  
  
She nodded, and pointed the spot on the floor where his wand lay. Evidently she hadn't come up of any clever way of hiding it, just left it on the floor. Draco picked it up, and walked out the door, Ginny following him.  
  
  
Ginny found the catacombs frightening. There were manacles on some of the walls, and dark stains on the floors. Cobwebs abounded and a scurrying sound revealed the presence of rats. Draco moved quickly, and that reassured her somehow. He was only a few steps ahead of her, his shoes making a rhythmic clickety-clack sort of sound. When combined with the faraway dripping sound that echoed through the place, it was rather soothing. Clickety-clack, drip. Clickety-clack, drip. If she focused on the pattern, she found she didn't have to think about much at all. Clickety-clack, drip. Her eyelids began to droop, and she yawned. She felt ungodly tired. Draco seemed much farther ahead now, and he was saying something she couldn't quite make out. He was so far away, all she could hear was the steady dripping and the beating of her own heart. Then, the world turned topsy turvy, and Ginny couldn't hear anything at all.  
  



	6. Love's First Kiss

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling.  
  
  
  
  
She looks good in my bed, Draco thought to himself. If only the circumstances were different. He barely knew the woman, and yet his soul had almost shattered when she'd collapsed in the catacombs. He'd carried her the rest of the way, then put her in his bed. None of the guest rooms had been used in years, and he certainly wasn't going to put her in the wing his parents had occupied. He hadn't entered his father's room since his return, because of this nagging feeling at the back of his mind that it would reek of the evil of Lucius more than the rest of the house.  
  
He'd called a doctor, a discrete one, and had her examined. There wasn't anything wrong with her aside from extreme exhaustion and the scrapes on her hands. The doctor had tended to her hands, then left, advising Draco to let her sleep, and for her to rest for a good week before taking on anything stressful. Draco took his advice, sleeping in one of nearby guestrooms, which was dusty, and had a lumpy mattress, which was why it was him sleeping on it rather than Ginny. He'd been doing only the necessary amount of business, spending the rest of the time waiting for his sleeping beauty to awaken.  
  
  
Draco spent Sunday morning lounging on the unoccupied side of his bed and reading the Prophet. A rather interesting column struck his eye when he reached for the features section.  
  
  
"T'is the Season for Commitment"  
  
By Lavender Finnigan  
  
  
It seems that in the wake of the Dark Lord's reign of terror, witches and wizards everywhere are making their love known. Marriage is in, and everyone seems to be getting into the swing of things.  
  
Hermione Granger has finally reeled in her beau. The Boy Who Lived reportedly popped the question after a night on the town in Diagon Alley. The two have yet to reveal their plans to anyone, but my sources never lie!  
  
Granger's former love is getting hitched, too. Retired Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum is wedding England's very own Cho Chang. Chang, one may recall, led the Wasps to two World Cup victories. It will be a second marriage for both.  
  
Pansy Parkinson, who one may recall as the former wife of Draco Malfoy, is also engaged this week. In a press conference, Parkinson announced her engagement to the heir to Jet Frangoso, heir to the fortune behind many Knockturn Alley shops. When asked about what soured her previous marriage, Parkinson's words had a decidedly acid bite.  
  
"When our dear Marigold passed on, Draco simply wasn't able to cope," she said. "I began to wonder if he ever cared about me or our daughter at all. Fortunately, I have every faith that my future husband will always show his love for me and any children we might have. I am very happy to finally be with a man who knows how to treat a woman."  
  
However, not all of the proposals are ending in I do's. Without a doubt, a "no" is a surefire way to put a damper on any relationship.  
  
Ronald Weasley, 26, brother of Percy Weasley, who perished heroically as the Dark Lord's last victim, is getting a lesson in what happens when you pop the question too soon. The junior Weasley reportedly asked an unknown Frenchwoman to be his bride last week. Sources say the woman, who is supposedly half Veela answered with an emphatic "I don't."  
  
  
  
  
Ginny's first thought was one of contentment. It was cold out, and here she was in her nice warm bed. She was still tired, so she rolled over to return to sleep.  
  
There was something there. Ginny's still groggy mind didn't process much beyond the fact that the something was warm, comfortable and safe. She draped an arm across it, snuggled into it and fell back to sleep.  
  
  
Draco was alarmed when he first realized the extent of his predicament. Ginny had successfully trapped him. Her head was snuggled into his chest, and her arm circled his waist. His first reaction was to push her back to her side. Well, maybe not his first reaction. His first reaction was much less... acceptable. Perhaps if he shifted his arms a bit he could roll her over to the other side... It took a great while to prepare for the delicate maneuver, but at last he was ready to try. Shifting his weight carefully, he rolled Ginny back to her pillow. For a moment the temptation to kiss her was almost overwhelming. Her slightly open lips were only a few millimeters below his... He closed his eyes, hoping the temptation would pass if he'd just stop looking at her for a moment. Just as he was about to return to his side, Ginny murmured something, and then her lips were touching his.  
  
Ginny wasn't fully awake. Her eyes were blurry with sleep, and she was kissing someone. She knew this wasn't Neville anymore that what she'd snuggled up against earlier. She knew it was wrong for some reason; forbidden. The kiss felt dangerous, and made her whole body shiver, yet gave her a warm feeling of contentment. And it didn't feel wrong. If anything it felt more right than anything ever had before.  
  
Draco didn't know what to do at first. He froze, his eyes going wide. Her mouth was moving more insistently against his, demanding an answer. Her arm moved from his waist, traveled up his back and curled about his neck. Its twin followed, then moved up to the back of his head, pulling him down and deepening the embrace. He wanted nothing more that to give in, to savor this moment because it was all he would ever get, his only taste of true happiness. He couldn't though. There was this little nagging voice in the back of his mind saying she wouldn't do this if she knew it was you. She'd never love a git like you. He missed the way he had been a year ago, without regrets without little nagging voices that said he couldn't have the one thing he wanted most. He had said what he wanted, done what he wanted and taken what he wanted, all with the idea that the world owed it to him. He couldn't go back though, so he just lay there in torment as Ginny kissed him, unable to pull back, but unable to respond.  
  
Finally he pushed himself out of her embrace as much as he could. She was surprisingly strong for a woman of her size, and her mouth was still close enough that every word brushed his lips against hers.  
  
"Gin, please," he pleaded. "Let me up."  
  
Her eyes fluttered open and looked up at him. Then her whole face shattered, and Draco knew it was with the realization that he wasn't Neville, that Neville was dead and she would spend a lifetime without anymore good morning kisses. She looked so hurt, so goddamned betrayed that he thought he would die on the spot for denying her a life with love.  
  
She let her hands drop back to the tangled bedclothes, releasing him. He rolled back to his side and got up.  
  
"I should probably see about lunch," he said to her. "I'll let you freshen up. The bathroom is to your right."  
  
It was then that she noticed she wasn't wearing her robes, rather she was wearing an overly lacey nightgown that smelled strongly of mothballs. She didn't recall getting into it. She opened her mouth to ask Draco about it, but he had already left, presumably to make lunch.  
  
She looked about the room. It was sparsely furnished, but immaculately decorated. The hardwood floor was covered by an enormous Persian rug. The tapestries were of a dark hunter green and matched the bed curtains and bedspread. She had always imagined Malfoy having black satin sheets. Instead they were cotton and a very rich red color, halfway between aubergine and crimson.  
  
She untangled herself from the bedclothes and walked stiffly into the bathroom. She ached everywhere, and a nice hot shower would probably help with that problem.  
  
Her most serious problem wasn't going to be solved by taking a hot shower. She didn't know how she was going to look him in the face after kissing him like that. She'd dreamt about him, dreamt about waking up in his arms and kissing him good morning. It had been wrong of her. Neville was barely in his grave and here she was dreaming about shagging other another man ten ways from Tuesday. It would figure that the only good night of sleep she'd had since Neville's demise had been in the bed of another man. As if her life didn't seem like a bloody soap opera already.  
  
When she stepped into the hot spray of water she almost moaned. Her body felt as if it had been in the same position for day rather than the six or seven hours she'd been asleep. Perhaps she'd just go back to bed when she got home.  
  
Noticing shampoo and conditioner already in the shower, she tended to her hair. They smelled of rosemary and lavender. It was a classic combination, but she found it a little overpowering when compared to her regular attar of roses. Unfortunately the aromas of Draco's toiletries had a much higher sedative power than her own, and her eyelids began to droop. It was time to get out.  
  
Sighing, she shut the water off and dried herself. The nightgown she'd been wearing was much too itchy to put back on. She spied a bathrobe of black sating hanging on a hook and wrapped it around herself. Her wand and regular robes hadn't been in the bedroom, so she supposed this was as freshened up as she was going to get.  
  
She towel dried her hair a bit more, and walked back into the bedroom to find Draco sitting in front of the fireplace, his back to her.  
  
"Feeling better?" He asked without turning.  
  
"Much," she said. "I', sorry I took so long, but the shower looked incredibly inviting and I didn't   
want to go home filthy."  
  
"Go home?" He queried. He still didn't turn to look at her. He knew that if he turned to look he would be completely lost. She would be standing there in the ratty old nightgown he'd found in one of the guestrooms, practically drowning in it because it was, at the very least, three sizes too large. Her hair would be halfway down her back, dark, wet and tangled. He wondered for a moment if her eyes would still look broken, like they had before. She was silent so he asked again, louder. "What do you mean go home?"  
  
"Well, I've been a terrible imposition. As soon as you point me towards my robes and wand, I'll be out of your hair."  
  
"No," Draco said firmly. "The doctor said you've been running yourself ragged. You're to stay in bed for a week."  
  
"What doctor?" Ginny asked, rather perplexed.  
  
"The one I called when you passed out cold on the floor."  
  
"Well, he's quite obviously a quack," Ginny replied belligerently.  
  
"Really?" Draco drawled. He stood up, faced her, knowing he'd have to do it sooner or later. He was unpleasantly surprised to find her wearing his robe. His very flimsy, practically indecent robe... He forced his eyes to her face. She was angry. Even across the room he could see the anger in her eyes, buzzing like a bee trapped in a jar. He continued. "Then why are there bags under your eyes?"  
  
"It's the stress, nothing more."  
  
"Being overstressed doesn't cause a person to sleep like a rock for 32 hours straight."  
  
"I missed all of Saturday?" She wondered aloud. The smart ass smirk on his face was saying "I told you so." He wasn't going to win that easily. "If I've slept 32 hours then I'm all caught up then, aren't I? Now show me my clothes and wand and I'll be out of your hair."  
  
He crossed the room so quickly she was afraid he was going to slap her. He didn't though, just held her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him.  
  
"You little fool," he said. "How long since you've had a good night's sleep?"  
  
"Good is subjective," she said, her eyes slipping away from his.  
  
"How long since you've slept more than an hour a night?" She wouldn't look at him, just murmured something unintelligible. "How long?" he bellowed at her. "A week?" She shook her head as much as she could. "Two?" Again, she shook her head. She was crying now, silently, tears streaming down her cheeks.  
  
"God Gin, it's been three weeks since he died, and you haven't been sleeping since then?" She nodded at this and wrenched her face out of his hands. She turned away so that he wouldn't see her crying any longer.  
  
"It can't go on like this. You know it can't," he told her back. She didn't say anything, just continued to cry. "It's killing you, and it's the last thing he would have wanted." He couldn't deal with her crying. It was painful to watch, and he knew he should do something. Putting his arms around her would be awkward, especially after the whole kissing incident. Perhaps he could bribe her.  
  
"Gin, come on now... I didn't mean to... don't cry... If you stop crying I'll get you anything you want from your flat."  
  
She sniffled and turned around. "I'm not staying here. I won't be held prisoner."  
  
"Think of it as a vacation then," he cajoled. "Chez Draco: A mint on every pillow, a smile on every face, eh?"  
  
Dumbledore had told her to take a few weeks off, and Draco was being awfully nice. Besides,   
Neville had died for him. He couldn't be all bad. Perhaps being pampered was just what she needed.  
  
"Alright, but I'll have to owl Mum so someone knows I'm gone. I'll tell her I've gone to Majorca or something."  
  
"That's a good girl," Draco replied. "Now write me a small list of the things you'll need from your flat."  



	7. The Cat's Pyjamas

  
Disclaimer: Whilst the ideas are mine, the characters and places belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
  
  
  
  
By the time Ginny was finished the "small list" had filled two pieces of parchment.  
  
"Is all this really necessary?" Draco asked.  
  
"Absolutely. And if you could get my toothbrush too, that'd be wonderful." Ginny closed her   
eyes for a moment, trying to see if she'd forgotten anything. "Dear Lord! I'd almost forgotten about Minnie! Here!" She scribbled something on the end of the list. "Show this to the cat. If she walks off, leave her. Otherwise you'll need to get her things, too. The cat treats are in the yogurt container on top of the refrigerator. Bring them, but don't let her have any, no matter how much she begs."  
  
"There's a cat?" Draco whined.  
  
"If I'm staying the cat needs to be taken care of," Ginny said coolly.  
  
"Fine," Draco pouted.  
  
"Thank you." Ginny smiled at him, and he knew he'd jump off a bridge if she asked it of him. He glanced in the mirror before stepping into the fireplace.  
  
"Perfect as usual, dear," simpered the mirror.  
  
"Don't I wish," he muttered back.  
  
  
  
"Ginny? Is that you?" A voice came from the other room.  
  
"Shit!" Draco cursed. "She didn't say anyone would be here."  
  
A tabby cat wandered into the room. "I was wondering where..." The cat trailed off. "Mr. Malfoy. How horribly disappointing."  
  
The cat was talking. Why was the cat talking?  
  
"Why are you talking?"  
  
"Hermione equipped me with a neat little translation spell. Why are you here?" The cats eyes narrowed.  
  
"I'm here to pick up some of Ginny's things," Draco said.  
  
"Have you any proof?" The cat asked dubiously.  
  
Draco showed the cat the note and tapped his foot impatiently as it read. It certainly took its dear sweet time.  
  
"Follow me," the cat said finally. It was evidently satisfied. He followed it into Ginny's bedroom. It was rather small, but very much Ginny. There were stuffed animals on the soft blue comforter, and pictures of her family on the dresser.  
  
"I will read the list, you will pack things in that trunk over there," it motioned with a paw.  
  
"Are all talking cats this overbearing?"  
  
"Are all students of Slytherin this daft?" The cat replied acidly. "I have been waiting years to be able to say that. I digress. You'd think you could have discovered my 'secret identity' as it were. I only transformed in front of your class around six thousand times."  
  
"McGonagall?" Draco asked bewilderedly.  
  
"Got it in one," the cat answered. "Horrible incident with the Death Eaters and all that. Can we get back to the problem at hand?"  
  
"Umm... sure."  
  
"Right then."  
  
Everything went pretty smoothly until the cat...er... McGonagall called out.  
  
"Knickers."  
  
"What?" Draco asked. "She doesn't honestly expect me to go rooting about in that drawer... You do it."  
  
"Unfortunately one of the drawbacks of this whole 'stuck as a cat' business it the complete and total lack of opposable thumbs." She was smirking at him. "Now get on with it."  
  
"But..."  
  
The cat wasn't listening to his protestations, just watching in amusement as he avoided the top dresser drawer like it was the black plague.  
  
"She likes the ones with the little purple hearts," McGonagall advised.  
  
After an excruciating five minutes of knicker examination with the cat, it was on to pajamas. Luckily these were more sedate. Most of them looked like little satin long sleeved shirt and pant sets.  
  
Finally all Ginny's things were packed in the trunk. It was almost overfilled, but the cat assured him it wasn't much at all, he was just inadequate when it came to packing correctly.  
  
"Now for my things," McGonagall ordered. "My pillow can be put in the bottom of the carrier. I shall ride in the carrier. There's a small compartment in the top, put the brush there. You'll have to carry the food separately. I suspect you have bowls, Mr. Malfoy?"  
  
"Yes," he answered. "You're coming then?"  
  
"Of course. I wouldn't miss this for the world."  
  
"What exactly won't you miss?"  
  
"You wooing Ginny, of course," she said smugly. "It's no use lying. You're smitten with her, or you wouldn't be here."  
  
"I am not smitten!" Draco countered hotly.  
  
"There is a name for people in your state, Mr. Malfoy, and that name is 'smitten kitten.'"  
  
He rolled his eyes.  
  
"May I have a treat?"  
  
"That was a bit random."  
  
"I'm a cat, it's our way," she explained. "Treat? I know she's told you where they are."  
  
"I'll get them, but she said you weren't to have one."  
  
"Oh well," the cat sighed audibly. "I'll get in the carrier then, shall I?"  
  
McGonagall settled herself in her carrying case as Draco retrieved the treats. He was just about to step into the fireplace, juggling everything when McGonagall spoke from her cage.  
  
"If you break her heart I'll vomit in your shoes, every last pair."  
  
"If I break her heart I'll do it myself," he replied soberly.  
  
"Good," she replied, satisfied. "Another thing..."  
  
"No you may not have a treat."  
  
McGonagall pouted as he stepped into the fireplace.  
  
  



	8. Naked Lunch

Disclaimer: Characters and places belong to Rowling.  
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny had been sleeping peacefully when she felt a cold, wet nose nudge her ear. She rolled over in irritation.  
  
"Minerva, I was having a perfectly lovely dream and you just had to wake me, didn't you?"  
  
"I'm hungry."  
  
"Talk to Draco then," she said with impatience. "Didn't he tell you I'm supposed to be resting?"  
  
"He won't give me a treat because you told him not to," the cat whined.  
  
"You're a professor, Minnie. Don't you think you're a bit above whining?"  
  
"I'm not a professor any longer, now am I? I'm a cat. And I'm hungry. Besides," the cat added with a smirk. "If I don't get a treat soon, I might let it slip that you've been moaning 'Draco' in your sleep."  
  
"I have been moaning no such thing!" Ginny exclaimed.  
  
"I'm rarely wrong about this sort of thing. Unless you were saying 'dragon, yes dragon, yes," I'd hazard a guess that you've fallen for him."  
  
"So you'd take advantage of the wily and inscrutable ways of my unconscious for a cat treat?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Fine," Ginny sighed. "Next time one of the house elves comes up, I'll let them know you're to have a treat."  
  
"What house elves?"  
  
"This is a mansion. There have to be house elves," Ginny reasoned. "Otherwise he'd have to   
cook for himself, and I really can't seeing him cooking anything."  
  
"Well, unless they're holed up in the east wing somewhere, there aren't any house elves."  
  
"Why the east wing?"  
  
"It's magically locked. I've tried everything to get in."  
  
"You've tried everything? How long have you been here?"  
  
"A few hours. One quickly exhausts the amount of non-magical possibilities for door opening. It's pretty much limited to push on it and look for a handle."  
  
"I suppose you're right."  
  
"Let's have dinner now."  
  
Ginny realized that until Minnie was fed, not much of anything was going to get done. Grumbling, she pulled herself out of bed to follow the cat into the kitchen. When she arrived, Draco was stirring something on the stove, and only his back was facing her. She was lost for a moment, looking at his back, not as skinny as it had been in boyhood, but not overly broad either. It was covered by a black robe, standard wizarding wear, that was a striking contrast to his pale skin and silvery hair. His hair was the most striking thing about him, she supposed. It looked very soft and fine, rather like rabbits fur.  
  
"Miss Weasley," the cat said waspishly at her.  
  
Draco spun around then, startled, and saw the very thing he had been avoiding all day. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, as if she were still very tired, and it worried him. What worried him more was that she was still wearing his robe, rather than her own clothing.  
  
"Why are you still wearing that?" He asked. "I put your trunk right by the bed."  
  
"I just came down to feed Minnie, then I'm going back to bed," she told him. "It didn't make sense to change clothes when I'm just going to go back to sleep in a moment."  
  
"You should have changed anyway. You're probably freezing," he argued, turning his back to her and continuing to stir the pot on the stove.  
  
"Well, then, why don't you do something to warm her up?" suggested Minerva innocently. "I'm sure you can think of something."  
  
Her response was a stony glare from Draco and a eye roll from Ginny.  
  
"Soup, people, I was suggesting we get on to the eating portion of the afternoon," the cat explained. "Honestly, one would think I was the one with the dirty mind."  
  
"The stew will be ready in a few minutes. Go back upstairs."  
  
"We'll wait," Minerva told him, hopping onto the counter and peering into the pot. "Potato in a milk base. Lovely. I'll have two bowls."  
  
"You'll have a quarter cup of kibble and that is all," Ginny informed her. "The doctor said if you don't lose weight you'll get sick."  
  
"Yes, well, he also recommended you have me 'fixed,' as if I was some common tramp," the cat argued. "And I do not see how we can trust the judgment of a man who would like to forcibly remove my ovaries."  
  
"He thinks you're just a regular cat!" Ginny retorted. "It's normal for a regular cat!"  
  
"Could we change the subject please?" Draco asked without turning around. "I'd really rather not hear about McGonagall's personal problems."  
  
"Sorry," Ginny said sheepishly.  
  
"Go back upstairs," Draco ordered again.   
  
"Why?"  
  
"You need to put some clothes on."  
  
"I'm already wearing clothes."  
  
"You're wearing a robe."  
  
"Last time I checked a robe fell into the realm of 'clothing.'"  
  
"Not appropriate clothing."  
  
"I'm just going back to bed in a little while anyway. Why bother?"  
  
"Put on your pajamas then. You should be resting not arguing with me about this."  
  
"Walking upstairs wouldn't be resting, it would be a waste of time."  
"Fine," Draco said with a note of annoyance. He summoned two bowls, silverware and a tray from the cupboards. He ladled the soup into the bowls, and placed one on the tray and the other on the table in front of Ginny. He then picked up the tray and began to walk from the room.  
  
"Aren't we going to eat together?" She asked him.  
  
"I'm busy," Draco said curtly before disappearing out the door. "Eat and go back to bed. Breakfast will be waiting when you wake."  
  
"The man certainly doesn't mince words, does he?" Remarked the cat.  
  



	9. Sleeping with the Enemy

Disclaimer: Characters and places belong to Rowling.  
  
  
  
  
  
Fred was playing with Angelina's hair, the black strands twisting around his fingers trapping them in the silken mass. She looked up at him adoringly and sighed contentedly. Percy was sitting on the dustbin in the corner, chattering away to her mother about dung samples from Norway.  
  
Pen walked out of the fireplace and picked up a present from beneath the tree. It was beautifully wrapped in gold paper with tiny golden snitches embossed on the outside and was encircled by a great mass of silvery ribbon. She presented it to Percy, and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled at her, but not a sad or condescending smile like the ones that had graced his face in the past few years. This smile was genuine, one of the smiles that had made Ginny think that he wasn't so bad after all, and she could tell by the way he was looking that when he looked at Pen, everyone else disappeared.   
  
She'd seen that look on Neville's face quite often, and was often upset by the fact that she couldn't return it, could never loved him as deeply as he loved her. Her eyes drifted to the package in Percy's hands and watched his thin fingers meticulously unwrap the package, taking hours to do what should have taken only moments. When the lid was lifted it revealed a shiny badge, much like Percy's old Head Boy Badge. It read MOM, and Percy began running about the room showing it to anyone who would look.  
  
Neville handed her a small box, and she knew what it was. The engagement ring he'd been saving up for. He'd thought he'd kept the secret so well, but she had known. She had seen him going through her jewelry and sizing a ring of hers. She'd finally decided on an answer. She would tell him "no." He deserved better, deserved someone who would cherish him as much as he cherished her. It was wrong to lead him on any longer just because she needed to feel wanted.  
  
Her fingers trembled as they undid the ribbon and flipped back the lid. It wasn't the diamond she'd expected. The box was longer beneath her fingers. It was a dagger, and a small diamond winked at her from the handle. She dropped it and stepped back in fear.  
  
The hands of the clock creaked counter-clockwise to rest on mortal peril. Voldemort walked in and Death Eaters followed him.  
  
"Play with him," Voldemort hissed. The Death Eaters surrounded her and Neville. But he wasn't Neville anymore. He was Draco. One of the Death Eaters stepped forward and pulled off his hood. Neville was the Death Eater. He reached for the dagger and was suddenly holding Percy's badge. He pinned it to Draco's chest.  
  
"You want me to kill him," explained Neville. "It's so much easier that way."  
  
She looked at Draco and everyone else disappeared. Blood was welling up around the badge, framing the gold in deep crimson. Neville had pushed the pin straight into his heart.  
  
She woke up screaming.  
  
  
  
The screaming was what woke him up. It was coming from his bedroom. He had fallen asleep on the couch in the study, as he was wont to do these days considering the general lumpiness of the mattresses in the guest rooms.  
  
He glanced at McGonagall as he sprinted out of the room. The cat was sleeping like a log, stretched out on the hearth of the fireplace, and he wondered how she could possibly sleep through all the racket.  
  
When he arrived in the bedroom, Ginny was sitting bolt upright in bed, her hair mussed with sleep and her eyes glittering with tears. She'd stopped screaming and when she saw him in the doorway she didn't hesitate in scrambling out of bed and running to him. The only thing that could register in his still sleepy mind at the time was that she was wearing the pajamas that he had brought her, the purple satin shirt and pant set. However, she wasn't wearing the pants. Just the knickers with the little purple hearts... Before he could thin much more about the situation she'd skidded to a stop in from of him. She was biting her lip in indecision again, still crying and only half awake.   
  
She needs to be comforted, that's all I'm going to do, Draco reasoned. He ignored the part of him that said he was just being selfish, taking advantage of her for his own stupid reasons. While his mind warred about exactly what to do, his arms lifted of their own accord, inviting her to be held.  
  
Ginny stopped biting her lip and stepped into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her as she latched onto him with a death grip.  
  
Draco felt out of his element. He was getting much too involved for comfort. She'd needed rest, so he had done what he expected Neville would have wanted. Neville would have wanted him to take care of her. Neville would not have wanted him to do this though. He most assuredly would not wanted Draco to stand there with his nose buried in Ginny's hair as she stood there half-dressed, smelling of his soap. He needed to stop before the urge to kiss the ear that was only seconds away from his lips overpowered him completely.  
  
"He killed you..." She sobbed into his shoulder. "You were dead and he killed you and I couldn't stop it."  
  
"Hush," he quieted her. "It was just a dream. Just a dream." He murmured soft, soothing words in her ear until her sobs quieted.  
  
  
  
She looked up at him. His silvery eyes were dark and unreadable. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off and stepped out of her arms.  
  
"Go back to sleep," he said and his voice was trembling. She wasn't sure why. Was he angry with her for being woken up? Her sense of self-preservation told her to do as he said, to not risk asking him for more than he'd already given her.  
  
"Stay with me," she compelled him. Self-preservation was very probably overrated, in her opinion.  
  
"Gin... I don't think that's a good idea..."  
  
"Please?"  
  
Perhaps it was the please that undid him or maybe the way her eyes looked up at him, through him and right into his soul. Or perhaps it was that he couldn't deny her anything.  
  
"Only until you fall asleep," he said. She could tell that he was angry now, but she didn't care. He was going to stay and make her feel safe, which was much more than she had expected.  
  
She crossed back to the bed, and straightened the covers which were twisted every which way.  
  
"You know, this is really nice for a guestroom," she told him.  
  
"It's not."  
  
"Don't be humble. It's perfectly wonderful,"  
  
"That's not what I meant."  
  
"What exactly did you mean then?"  
He mumbled something.  
  
"I didn't catch that."  
  
"It's my room."  
  
"Oh," Ginny replied confused. "Then where have you been sleeping."  
  
"Around," he said obtusely. After realizing what he'd just said, he spoke again. "That didn't sound right. I meant that I've been sleeping in the guest room."  
  
"Doesn't kind of defeat the purpose of having a guest room?"  
  
"It's kind of run down, and you need rest, not a lumpy mattress."  
  
"Oh." She thought about this for a moment. "Why don't you just sleep here tonight?"  
  
At his skeptical look she expounded on the idea. "We're both adults, and we're both in all our clothes... And it is a king sized bed, there's plenty of room. It'll be like a slumber party," she cajoled.  
  
  
Any normal man would have seen two clear-cut options. Go or stay. Ginny was giving him an open invitation. He could be the nice guy and leave or he could be the bad guy and do what he'd been wanting to do since she had kissed him.  
  
Draco wasn't ordinary though and neither was she. And sometimes when she looked at him with those big brown eyes he forgot his own name, let alone what he was supposed to be doing. He scowled and crossed to the other side of the bed. He balled a pillow up under his head and turned away from her.  
  



	10. Daughter of Mine

Disclaimer: Once again, characters and places herein belong to J.K. Rowling, with the exception of Marigold.  
  
  
  
  
She woke when she heard crying. It was loud and insistent, like that of a child. She lifted her hand to rub the sleep from her eyes and found it intertwined with Draco's. Shaking herself mentally, she looked down to find that much of him was wrapped around her. He'd evidently curled up to her in his sleep, and they were pressed together like spoons in a silverware drawer. Her gaze followed the hand that held hers up into the arm that was draped possessively over her waist. One of his legs was wedged between hers, in a position that looked like it would feel uncomfortable, but wasn't hurting her a bit.  
  
If it hadn't been for the crying, she wouldn't have even thought about waking him up. She felt guilty about it, as she had for dreaming about him, but she wasn't going to give up on whatever this new feeling was just because the timing was inconvenient. Convincing Draco to give this a chance was going to be much more difficult that she cared to imagine. She liked to think that him curling up to her in his sleep meant more than just him wanting to cuddle a warm body. Unfortunately, the crying wasn't stopping. She moved a little, hoping he would wake up.  
  
"Draco?" She said.  
  
"Shh..." He murmured and snuggled closer, pushing his lips against her neck, causing her to shiver.  
  
"Draco, someone's crying."  
  
His eyelids lifted and he sprang back from her as if she were on fire, angry that his body had betrayed him in sleep. Angry that she was so trusting of him that she saw no threat in his closeness.  
  
"What?" He demanded.  
  
"Someone is crying," she repeated.  
  
He wasn't sure how he'd missed it at first. It was so loud the room practically vibrated with it.  
  
"Stay here, I'll take care of it," he ordered. "And for Pete's sake, put on some damned pants."  
  
He stormed out of the room leaving behind a bewildered Ginny.  
  
"What in the hell is going on here?" She wondered aloud. After climbing out of bed and rooting about in her trunk for pants, she walked briskly and soundlessly out the door. She wasn't going to wait around for some half-assed answer. She was going to go see for herself.  
  
It wasn't exactly difficult to follow Draco. He was running, but he was also making an inordinate amount of noise tripping over things in the dimly lit hallways.  
  
Draco stopped in front of a large pair of French doors and took a key from above the door frame. He proceeded to unlock the door and walk inside.  
  
Ginny cautiously slid over to the doors, which were conveniently open just a crack. Looking through the small space, she was something which she never would have expected.  
  
The room was pale pink, with hundreds of toys. They were toys she'd seen muggle children playing with quite frequently. The dolls didn't seem quite as real as the ones she had played with as a child. There were no quills, only pencils and pens mixed amid crayons on a small writing desk.  
  
In the middle of the sea of indulgence was a white canopy bed, with fluffy and frilly pink bed clothes. Draco was sitting on the side of the bed, rocking a small girl. Her hair was blond, but so pale it looked silvery white, like the hair of the man holding her. He murmured broken reassurances in the child's ear, much as he had done for Ginny earlier. He hadn't felt like a father then, but he certainly looked the part now. Eventually the violent sobbing abated, and the girl turned to him.  
  
"Who is the woman by the door, Father?"  
  
Ginny shrunk away from the door, hoping that by miracle Draco would pay no heed to his daughter's words. She already felt bad enough for following him, she didn't need censure in front of the child to add to her guilt.  
  
"Just a friend, ma petite," he reassured her. "Just a friend."  
  
His voice changed then, because harder, sharper and authoritarian in nature. "Ginny, were you planning on skulking about outside the door or actually entering the room?"  
  
She hesitated a moment, then opened the doors and stepped into the room. Her body stiffened as if it wanted to prepare itself for any assault, physical or verbal that lay past the entrance.  
  
"A friend?" The child queried. "Like Uncle Neville?"  
  
"Yes," Draco replied. His voice softened when he spoke to the child, as if making a conscious effort to cage his temper when he spoke to his daughter. He down at the small girl though, just stared at Ginny, trying to his eyes telegraph to her how angry he was, rather than how hurt he was that she hadn't trusted him. He paused a moment, and hid his feelings behind a wall of love for his daughter, then looked down at her.  
  
"Marigold, this is Aunt Ginny."  
  
Her pale silver eyes examined Ginny from the safety of her father's arms.  
  
"I'm sorry I woke you Aunt Ginny," she said apologetically. While Marigold appeared to be only three or four years old, her words were crisp and clear, suggesting that the child was much older than she looked.  
  
"You didn't wake me at all," Ginny replied soothingly.  
  
"I think you're lying," Marigold observed shrewdly. "Your eyes still have sleep in them, although you look like you still need sleep."  
  
"Regardless," Draco cut in. "We're all awake now."  
  
Marigold paid him no heed.  
  
"Why didn't you sleep, then?," she asked Ginny. "Did you have a nightmare too?"  
  
Ginny didn't answer, just watched Draco who was beginning to get visibly irritated, rather than just being cold to her. Unless she was very mistaken, he was going to blow his top fairly quickly.  
  
"It doesn't look like any of us will be getting to bed soon. Perhaps a cup of cocoa will calm our nerves," she offered.  
  
"Do you usually have cocoa to get rid of nightmares?" Marigold asked.  
  
"It usually helps me sleep," Ginny replied, carefully avoiding the question.  
  
"Oh," Marigold said with disappointment. "I'm not the least bit tired. Isn't there something else?"  
  
Ginny was about to suggest listening to the WWN as she and Neville had done when they needed calming down, but stopped when she saw Draco mouth something at her. She cocked her head and stared at him, momentarily forgetting that Marigold was in the room as she tried to discern what he was attempting to tell her. His face had lost the cold look and at least that was something.  
  
"No magic," he said to her soundlessly.  
  
Well, that certainly put a damper on the WWN. She wasn't daunted by this though. Muggle Studies had been one of her best classes, and it didn't take long for her to find something nonmagical a small girl would enjoy.  
  
"Let's have a slumber party, then."  
  
Both Draco and Marigold looked at her skeptically. Draco rolled his eyes, and Marigold looked confused.  
  
"You know, paint each others nails, do each others hair, that sort of thing."  
  
"I've never done that before..." Said the little girl, as she looked up at her father expectantly. It was quite obvious that she liked the idea, but was looking for her father's approval.  
  
"Hurrah," Draco said flatly.  
  
"I'll go get my traveling case."  
  
"I'll help her," Draco told his daughter as he slipped from the bed and followed Ginny out of the room.  



	11. The Profundity of Scooby Doo

Disclaimer: Again, characters and places with the exception of Marigold belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
  
  
  
  
She had almost made it back to the bedroom when a hand shot out from behind her and imprisoned her wrist. She turned to find a very angry Draco. His temper had been in check when he was around his daughter, but it was quite obviously unleashed at the moment.  
  
"What in the blazes did you think you were doing?" Draco demanded. "I told you to stay!"  
  
"Yes, well, I've never been good at taking orders," she replied coolly. "I don't know what on earth is wrong with. Perhaps I should be put down..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Put down, as in 'putting down Fido,' because he's made one too many messes on the carpet."  
  
"What are you blathering on about?"  
  
"I was alluding to the fact that if you had wanted someone to sit, stay and roll over, you should have gotten a dog."  
  
"And I was trying to make the point that this is my house and you'll follow my rules!"  
  
"I'd say we're getting dangerously close to crossing the line from 'host' to 'captor' again, Malfoy!"  
  
"So I'm to play the good little host while you run about doing whatever you please?"  
  
"I was wrong. It happens. I invaded your privacy and I'm sorry. I honestly don't know why it has to be a big secret, anyway. You and Pansy have a daughter. Big bloody deal!"  
  
"Are you honestly as daft as all that?"  
  
"What am I missing? Just tell me!"  
  
"Nothing," Draco said with annoyance. "I'm tired of this. Get your traveling case and remember the two rules for this little adventure. You aren't to talk to about magic around her, and you aren't to talk about her to anyone."  
  
"Fine." Ginny wrenched her wrist out of Draco's grasp and stalked to her room.  
  
  
When she arrived she found Minnie sitting on the bed.  
  
"You know, this is much more comfortable than the floor," the cat drawled. "Why are you crying?"  
  
"I'm not crying."  
  
"Then perhaps we should talk to someone about replacing you with a model that doesn't leak."  
  
"He's so frustrating!" Ginny whined as she collapsed on the bed. "Honestly Minnie. He's got all these inane little rules. 'No magic around my daughter.' Just because it's illegal for her to practice underage..."  
  
"Daughter?" The cats ears perked up.  
  
"-I mean for Christ-sakes! I only wanted a simple non-ambiguous answer, so I followed him..." Ginny's words trailed off. "I'm babbling again, aren't I?"  
  
"Like a brook," remarked the cat. "Now what was this about Draco having a daughter?"  
  
"Her name is Marigold, she lives in the east wing... I mean granted, I didn't really see him as the father type, but I suppose it was quite natural for him and Pansy to have a child. He really seems quite   
paternal around her..."  
  
"Are you as daft as you seem?" The cat queried. "Or is this merely a demonstration of your amazing theatrical prowess?" At Ginny's questioning look Minnie continued. "Marigold Malfoy- her death was all over the papers last year."  
  
"But why would they say she was dead when she wasn't?" Ginny wondered aloud.  
  
"Well I don't know, Velma, but jinkies, perhaps it has something to do with the whole 'mysterious disappearance' bit Draco pulled off last year," Minerva said sarcastically.  
  
"Velma?" Ginny wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Jinkies?"  
  
"Muggle television program," Minerva explained. In response to Ginny's quizzically raise eyebrows, she became defensive. "What? There's one in the study and sometimes I get bored!"  
  
"I'm having a crisis and you're talking about your new hobby?"  
  
"Alright then, back to you."  
  
"Thank you," Ginny replied. "So what you're saying with your cat-babble is that I made a complete ass of myself?"  
  
"Well, that wouldn't be the particular swear word that would best describe your behavior, but essentially, yes." The cat explained, "And laying there with your face buried in a pillow isn't going to do anything to fix this."  
  
"Well, I can't do much of anything right now," Ginny reasoned. "I'm supposed to be getting slumber party supplies."  
  
"Ah... Well, I'm going to have a midnight snack," Minerva said as she stretched, then leaped to the floor. As she left the room she added, "I knew leaving that bit of food in my dish was a good idea..."  
  
Ginny rooted through her trunk until she found her small traveling case, which luckily was the least magical of all her belongings.  
  
Grabbing a pillow beneath her free arm, she sprinted out of the room. If she was lucky, Draco wouldn't be as angry as he had been earlier. She knew she was supposed to be trying to make peace, but she wanted the whole story, and she was going to get it, come hell or high water.  
  
  
  
Draco was sitting on a stool in front of the stovetop waiting for the pot of milk to boil when McGonagall pranced into the room.  
  
"You know, one of the benefits of being able to do magic is that it doesn't take twenty minutes to make cocoa," she advised.  
  
"It tastes better this way," Draco argued.  
  
"Otherwise meaning: 'Ginny and I had a frightful row, help me Professor McGonagall!'" The cat retorted as Draco glared at her. The feline turned serious. "She really didn't know about any of it. She's usually much less daft, but with everything lately she's just not quite as quick on the uptake as she usually is, if you know what I mean."  
  
Draco didn't respond, just glared at the stove.  
  
"I know you're having a hard time of it, but she is, too. Think about letting her know whatever it is you're hiding. Perhaps you both deserve a little trust." The cat looked up at him pleadingly, and noticed that he wouldn't even glance in her direction. She sighed. "Fine. You're both destined to die sad and alone? Anything?" She gave up. "I'm leaving. Stir the milk before it gets a skin."  
  
He finally looked at the tabby as she was walking from the room.   
  
"I am not kidding around here, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said. "No one likes a skin."  
  
With that parting bit of advice, the cat was gone.   



	12. Girls Just Want to Have Fun

Disclaimer: Again, characters and places with the exception of Marigold belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
I'd like to thank the people who've reviewed so far, so here we go: Thanks to wither 256, debra, spy_angel, LissaLapin, Arabella, w&m_law, Gaea Blackwell, Great Milenko, Mari, and izzy.  
  
And a note to those who don't review. Please, find a moment to tell me what you think before just passing by without a word. You're opinions make a world of difference.  
  
  
  
  
After several wrong turns and a thorough examination of what appeared to be a door, but was actually an elaborate painting, Ginny finally arrived at the entrance to the east wing. She knocked tentatively at the door, hoping that it wasn't designed to kill or maim her. Surprisingly, the door drifted open beneath her fingers.  
  
Marigold was sitting in the middle of her bed, clutching two gigantic stuffed bears.  
  
"The slumber party is still going to happen, then?" The child asked. At Ginny's nod she continued. "Good. You were both gone an awfully long time."  
  
"Sorry about that. My case was at the very bottom of my trunk," Ginny lied apologetically. "I'm an exceedingly untidy person."  
  
"You and Papa had a row, didn't you?"  
  
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it around him."  
  
"He's awfully sensitive when it comes to me," Marigold said as she wrinkled her little nose. "Come sit with me. I can barely see you all the way over there."  
  
Ginny placed her traveling case on the end of the bed, then climbed up to sit beside the small girl.  
  
"What have you got in there?" Marigold asked.  
  
"Nail polish, a brush, loads of makeup and a few hair things."  
  
"Oh," said Marigold timidly. "May I see them?"  
  
Ginny smiled obligingly and opened the case.   
  
  
  
  
When Draco re-entered his daughter's room, he found Ginny sitting on Marigold's bed, with her arm draped lazily about the little girl's shoulders as they examined the contents of Ginny's traveling case. If it hadn't been for the striking physical differences of their hair and eyes, one would have thought Ginny was her mother. Things would have been much different if she had been Ginny's child. Marigold would have been brought up with smiles, laughter and warmth, rather than with the frowns, shouts and cold that had characterized Marigold's early years. It was no use conjecturing about what could have been, though. Soon Ginny would leave, and it would be just Draco and Marigold again, alone in the great cold manor.  
  
That was exactly why he shouldn't let Marigold get attached. It was exactly why he shouldn't do anything he might regret, like kissing her until she forgot bloody Neville had ever even existed. Not that he didn't want to kiss her, far from it. Even now with Marigold playing the role of chaperone, his eyes kept wandering back to Ginny's rose lips, back to the little indentation on her bottom lip that her teeth worried at when she was anxious. That little indentation that was begging him...  
  
"Papa?" Marigold's voice rang out like a tiny bell, startling him out of his guilty thoughts. His daughter looked up at him expectantly and he realized he'd missed a large part of the conversation.  
  
"I suppose it's your call," Ginny remarked. "So which shall it be?" She held up two bottles of nail polish, one silver and one red. "Moonlight Magic or Ravish-Me-Red?"  
  
"Let Marigold decide," he said absently as he placed the tray of cocoa he'd been holding on the vanity.  
  
"Ravish-Me-Red," Marigold giggled.  
  
"All right then, go wash your hands so we can get started."  
  
The little girl bounced off the bed and into the adjoining bathroom as Ginny readied her supplies. Draco climbed onto the far side of the bed, as far from Ginny as possible, and opened the book he'd been meaning to read.  
  
Half an hour passed while Ginny blathered on about cuticle remover and calcium deposits. He was to the chapter entitled "The Most Precious Thing," when he was interrupted. An overly excited Marigold crawled up under his arm to show him the results of the noxious fumes that filled the room. Her little fingernails sparkled silver as she gushed over "Aunt Ginny's" cosmetic ability.  
  
"I thought you wanted the red," he said after a few moments.  
  
"No, silly!" Marigold exclaimed as she rolled her eyes. "I chose red for you."  
  
  



	13. Ravish-Me-Red

Disclaimer Again: Everyone so far, save Marigold belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me, and most certainly not that ridiculous Stouffer woman.  
  
A note to my Beta's- and you know who you are. Thanks for being critical and positive all at the same time. This is Chapter 13. I hope it doesn't go straight downhill from here...  
~The Glitter Pixie  
  
  
  
  
  
It was after much cajoling, much pleading and a tag team of puppy dog eyes that Draco found himself sitting cross-legged opposite Ginny. He'd already been to the bathroom, where he'd been told to first wash his hands, then returned to have some kind of goop rubbed on them. Ginny took his hand in hers and set to work.  
  
The fumes either dissipated or disappeared completely, because quite suddenly he couldn't smell them any longer. Her small hands traveled over his, rubbing whatever the hell it was into his "cuticle beds," and before he could zone out completely, she looked at him expectantly. The noxious smell returned.  
  
"Well," she said while making a little shooing motion with her hand. "Go wash that off."  
  
"I already washed them once," he grumbled. "If you didn't want it on my hands why did you put it there in the first place?" Without waiting for an answer, he got up and stalked to the bathroom.  
  
When he returned to his cross-legged position across from her, her small hands took possession of his again. Again, the smells went away, and he sat dazed in front of her. Her pretty little rosebud of a mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear her talking. He could, however, hear his own shallow breathing in his ear, playing in sync with the erratic beating of his heart. He needed something to focus on, something to jar him out of this weird, drunken state of being. Neville. He could focus on Neville.  
  
"Did you ever do this for Neville?" He blurted out without realizing he was going to say it aloud.  
  
"Occasionally," Ginny replied with a small, sad smile. She found that she could bear to talk about Neville now that she knew he had died to save someone else, now that she knew he'd died to save Draco and Marigold. Very deep inside of her a little bit of her heart was saying that losing Neville had been worth it if it had brought her here. "I didn't do it very often, because I felt kind of guilty about the whole thing," she admitted. "He'd say yes to anything I asked of him, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't do the same for him. He made me feel guilty quite a great deal, actually. He showered me with love, and somehow I just couldn't give that love back to him. I loved him because he was a great friend, but I'm not sure I would have married him. He deserved much more than I could give him."  
  
"Oh," Draco replied. He wasn't exactly sure what she meant. She'd wheedled him into having his nails painted, and she didn't show a bit of remorse. He was fairly certain that this was a sign. Unfortunately, he was unsure if this was a good sign or a bad sign. On the one hand, her lack of guilt about his nail painting could mean she found him irresistible, but on the other hand it could mean she didn't care enough about him to worry about his feelings. Perhaps he should stop overanalyzing things and focus more on the lovely way he little hand was wrapped about his wrist. The fleshy part of her palm was nestled against the pulse point on the bottom of his wrist, and her little thumb and pinky were about an inch short of meeting at the top.  
  
After a few more minutes of mindless gawking, Draco realized she was talking again. Mainly he realized she was talking because she'd stopped touching him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"They're done, you just have to wait for the top coat to dry," she smiled apologetically. "It's not express like the others."  
  
"Oh," Draco replied. "What exactly am I supposed to do while I wait?"  
  
"Some people like to blow on them," Ginny suggested as she packed her manicure supplies away.  
  
"What?" Draco said, looking askance. "That's a little forward, and may I remind you that little pitchers have big ears?"  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes before replying. "First off, she's sleeping like a log, and secondly, you know perfectly well I meant your nails, Mr. Gutterhead."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You seem to be saying that quite a great deal tonight," Ginny observed. "Feeling a bit monosyllabic?"  
  
"If my nails weren't wet," he threatened in low tones.  
  
"Oh you big baby," she said as she grabbed his wrist and blew lightly on his fingers. He stopped complaining, just watched her little head right below his and felt her warm breath on his hands.  
  
She looked up at him to see why he was so still, and found his eyes boring into her own. They had darkened like he did when he was angry and for a moment she wondered what she had done wrong.  
  
Then his lips closed over hers and she only wondered one thing. How on earth could she make him promise to never stop?  
  
It all happened very slowly for Draco. One minute they were arguing and the next moment they were kissing. Perhaps he was kissing her and she was just there, but who worried about semantics at a time like this? In any case, it was his heart that had just exploded, and it was his tongue grazing the dimple on Ginny's bottom lip. He had the feeling again, the feeling that he wasn't supposed to be doing any of this for some inane reason. He felt... rather dizzy actually. Maybe it was the paint fumes again, or maybe it was that he was overtired. Then again, it might have something to do with the fact that Ginny's arms were wrapped around him and she was massaging his back in a way that made his pulse go faster that a quidditch match between Potter and an armadillo... But then her tongue was in his mouth and he stopped worrying because his nervous system pretty much short-circuited.  
  
Ginny was a hairsbreadth away from raising the white flag of surrender to the almighty powers of Ravish-Me-Red when she heard something. It wasn't anything more than a rustle of bedclothes as Marigold rolled over, but it was enough to snap her out of her momentary mindlessness. Regretfully, she moved her hands to Draco's chest and pushed. He moaned into her mouth and she almost gave up, but she gathered her wits about her and pushed again harder, separating them.  
  
They were both breathing heavily, though Draco appeared worse off. His eyes were glazed and half-lidded. Dazed he stared at her out of his still-dark eyes and muttered, "Wow."  
  
"A little too... wow," Ginny added dryly with an inclination of the head in Marigold's direction.  
  
Draco's countenance immediately changed. His eyes opened wide and he almost leapt off the bed.  
"Sorry," he stammered as he edged out the door. "I need to be..." he searched for the words. "Not here now."  
  
Ginny stared at the empty door frame for a few moments, hoping that he would realize where he needed to be and would return. When he didn't come back, she straightened the tangled bedclothes and slipped in next to Marigold. Ginny knew how nightmares worked. Sometimes, they came back and all you wanted was to be held in the arms of someone who loved you, the arms of someone who made you feel safe. She wondered what was so important to Draco that Marigold couldn't wake up safe in his arms. A silent tear fell down her cheek as she gathered the sleeping child in her arms. The same deep, dark corner of her heart that had felt losing Neville was acceptable wondered why Ginny couldn't wake up safe in Draco's arms, too.  
  



	14. Sobering Thoughts

Standard Disclaimer: The characters within this text belong to J.K. Rowling, with the soul exception of Marigold Malfoy.  
  
Please be responsible and review. I absolutely live for reviews, and as of 5:11PM on April 6th, I've only had 14 on this story. Help me out here, folks.  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco glared at the grandfather clock. He had eventually retired to his fathers lounge and was nursing a fresh mug of cocoa while sitting at the bar. McGonagall was stretched out on the bar's dusty surface and yawning.  
  
"She's your lobster," the cat explained drunkenly. She moved her front paws together in an awkward fashion, then frowned. "Take a memo! If you don't have opposable thumbs, you can't make the little pinchy fingers that make that metaphor work."  
  
Draco cast a skeptical glare at the cat.  
  
"You always have to be a problem, don't you?" The cat said belligerently. "With everybody else it's tra-la-la wave of the wand and everyone's happy again. The two of you can't just take my advice. No, that would be much too simple! Let us mock Minnie and her wiseness! Is wiseness a word? Oh, dear, I think someone's spiked my cocoa!"  
  
"You haven't had any cocoa," Draco said peevishly.  
  
"Then quite obviously someone spiked your cocoa and I drank some while you were in the bathroom," the feline said with an air of discovery.  
  
"That's disgusting!" He exclaimed as he pushed the mug away from himself.  
  
"Why is that disgusting?"  
  
"You lick your own..."  
  
"And yet, reputable scientists agree my mouth is much cleaner than yours."  
  
He rolled his eyes.  
  
"Besides," McGonagall reasoned. "If you're going to get good and pissed, peppermint schnapps mixed with cocoa is not acceptable."  
  
"I'm taking advice from a professor-turned-cat on how to get appropriately plastered?"  
  
"I read Cosmo," the cat established her expertise. "Peppermint schnapps and cocoa is one of the girliest drinks around. For Pete's sakes man, it's called a Snuggler!"  
  
"What business is it of yours?" He bellowed.  
  
"Be a man!" Hissed the cat.  
  
"Fine," Draco grabbed a random bottle from the bar and stalked out. He was unsure where he was going, but he didn't really care so long as it was a woman-free zone.  
  
He wound up in his own bedroom. Ginny was in with Marigold, and he was pretty sure she was going to stay there. After quite a few gulps of the unidentified liquor he looked at the label. There, in extremely blurry letters was the word "Gin."  
  
"How desperately appropriate," he muttered before drifting off into alcohol induced slumber.  
  
  
  
  
When Ginny woke, it was still dark. She rubbed her eyes groggily and looked over at Marigold, who was awake and dressed.  
  
"Good morning, Aunt Ginny," Marigold said as she went about the room, straightening her dolls, putting crayons back in their boxes and picking up toys which had been left on the floor. "Papa likes things to be in order when we have breakfast."  
  
"When do you usually have breakfast?"  
  
"A little while after I wake up. Amelia will be in with breakfast soon."  
  
"Amelia?"  
  
"Amelia the Nanny. You'd better leave if you're here in secret."  
  
Ginny smiled as she got out of bed and stretched. Marigold was amazingly astute. "How long have you had a nanny?"  
  
"Only since we've been living here," Marigold answered. "Three or four weeks, I think. Before that Papa took care of me himself."  
  
"Is he going to have breakfast with you?"  
  
"Probably not. If he's going to eat with me, he's usually here when I wake up. Say hello to him for me."  
  
"If I see him," Ginny hedged. She was more confused than ever about where things stood between her and Draco.  
  
"You will," Marigold assured her as she made the bed. "He's rather taken with you, you know."  
  
Ginny opened her mouth to deny it, then realized she didn't know exactly what Draco felt about her. Marigold looked at her, expecting a response.  
  
"I'd better go."  
  
  
  
  
Ginny's was cold by the time she entered. She supposed that was the down side of living in a castle. It got incredibly drafty. She undressed quickly and slipped into real clothes rather than pajamas for the first time in days. She was just about to brush her teeth when she noticed a pair of feet lurking behind one of the armchairs by the fireplace.  
  
"Draco?" she asked incredulously. Upon his lack of reply, she padded over to further assess the situation. "Shit." Her cause for alarm was duly apparent. First, Draco was sprawled face down on the floor in a state of utter unconsciousness. Second, she'd just stepped on a bit of broken glass.  
  
She cleared the shards of glass away from around him and then knelt down beside him. He didn't respond, though she said his name several times. Groaning, she rolled him over, carefully making sure not to roll him onto any bits of glass.  
  
She bent down close to his face and put her cheek near his mouth. Warm breath caressed her face, alerting her to the fact that he was still breathing.  
  
"Draco?" She lifted her head away from his, and pushed at his cheek gently with her hand. "Draco, wake up."  
  
A pair of bleary silver eyes looked out at her from half opened eyelids. He winced, then began to push himself up.  
  
"Maybe you shouldn't do that," she cautioned, putting a hand to his chest. "Try taking it a little more slowly."  
  
He intended to sit up and tell her that he didn't need her silly advice, that he was completely fine. In his defense, he did manage the sitting up part. Quite unfortunately, when he opened his mouth to release a witty little comeback, the only thing that came out was yesterday's dinner. Most unfortunate of all was it's landing place.  
  
Ginny glared at him. "Want me to help you to the toilet or shall you just vomit on me again?"  
  
Wise enough to know not to argue with a woman who was covered in his vomit, he didn't say anything at all. He placed his clean hand into hers, and she pulled him off the floor.  



	15. Stumbling Towards Sleep

The standard disclaimer rule applies here. J. K. Rowling owns all the characters within this text with the exception of Marigold.  
  
Questions for me about where this is going? Put it in the REVIEW.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
If Draco had expected to be simply escorted to the bathroom, he had another think coming. Ginny was by his side through the whole embarrassing ordeal. She sat by him on the cold tile floor as he retched, pressing a cold wash cloth to the back of his neck.  
  
After around fifteen minutes, he collapsed onto the ground. Ginny smoothed his hair back from his sweaty temples. "Draco?"  
  
"Mhmm?" He answered into the tile.  
  
"As much as I'm loving the whole 'drunken bonding' thing we've got going on, I think that it would do us both a great lot of good if we got cleaned up."  
  
He turned slightly so that he was facing her. "How do you propose we do that?"  
  
"Well, I'm pretty sure the shower would be the best bet."  
  
"Aren't we a smart-ass this morning," Draco drawled. "What I was referring to was the fact that I'm not particularly mobile at the moment."  
  
"I helped you get to the bathroom, I'm pretty sure I can help you stand up for a shower," she offered.  
  
"As fun as a game of "hide the scrub brush" would be, I'm pretty sure this isn't the time."  
  
"Oh come off it," Ginny argued. "I've we both strip down to our underclothes, we'll still be more covered up that we are in bathing suits."  
  
"Perhaps I swim in the raw..."  
  
"We're sitting here covered in vomit and you're arguing about semantics?"  
  
Draco thought about her proposal for a moment. "Good point."  
  
  
  
  
After a great deal of awkwardness, Draco and Ginny were at last standing in the shower. Actually, Draco was leaning against the back wall of the shower and Ginny was standing.  
  
"You're looking pale again," Ginny said while scrunching up her nose. "Do we need to go back to the toilet?"  
  
"No, just give me a minute."  
  
"You're never going to get clean if you lean where the water can't reach you."  
  
"Just give me a minute," Draco bit off. "Wash your hair or something."  
  
"Okay," she said as she reached for the shampoo bottle. "Tell me if you need to get out though."  
  
Ginny poured a liberal amount of shampoo into her hand and began lathering her hair up. "You know, I'm beginning to like this shampoo blend you have. Rosemary and lavender, isn't it?"  
  
"Yeah," he ground out. His headache was killing him and making polite conversation wasn't exactly a high priority at the moment.  
  
"It's a pretty common blend. I've always found it a little overpowering, but this blend seems to be much less threatening," Ginny rattled on. "Soap is really the only thing I splurge on. I'm so sensitive about smells, that I can't stand most things. I usually use things with rose oil in them, because it's so diluted that it never smells too much."  
  
"Mhmm."  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"For what?"  
  
Ginny cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not joking." She took his hand, and guided him under the stream of water. His legs buckled beneath him and he faltered.  
  
"Let's sit," she suggested with a small smile.  
  
He didn't argue, just nodded his head a little bit. Slowly, she eased the both of them onto floor of the shower, with her sitting behind him. She washed his hair as he lay limply against her.  
  
"Ginny?" His voice was very soft and faraway. "I'm tired."  
  
"Let's brush our teeth, then go to bed."  
  
  
  
Even though she'd been sleeping straight for the majority of the past two days, Ginny was more than willing to tumble back into bed. Draco had crawled into bed immediately after changing into dry pajama pants That particular endeavor had taken an inordinate amount of time, because although Ginny had promised not to peek, he insisted on dressing himself. She smoothed the bed clothes and then filled the water glass from the night stand. Shards of glass twinkled by the fireplace, and she decided to deal with the mess when she woke up.  
  
She slipped into the unoccupied side of the bed. Here eyelids shut and her mind drifted. Moments later, she was almost asleep when a warm arm curled about her waist.  
  
Draco pulled her to him, and his warm breath stirred the downy hair near her ear. Figuring he was dreaming, she briefly considered pulling away, but then decided against it. Snuggling closer into his embrace, she drifted towards dreamland.  
  
Somewhere in her dream, or his, or perhaps in reality, he kissed the back of her neck and murmured, "thank you."  
  



	16. Cupid and Psyche

The human mind is an interesting thing. According to scientists, when we sleep, our mind takes bits of unresolved issues and attempts to resolve them. This process is known as dreaming.  
  
Neither Ginny nor Draco knew any scientists. They only knew that when they slept, they had nightmares. Sometimes they remembered the nightmares. Other times they would wake in a cold sweat, with a terrible feeling of dread. For Ginny, these nightmares had been plaguing her for the three weeks following Neville's death. For Draco, the horrific dreams had been with him for three years.  
  
When Ginny woke in Draco's arms, there wasn't a feeling of dread. There was no cold sweat trickling down the back of her neck. It seemed that the nightmares went away when she was with him. In the past few days, she'd woken four times without being afraid. Three of those times she had woken in his arms, and the fourth was when she had been woken by Minnie, in the middle of a dream about being in Draco's arms.  
  
It was peculiar, to say the least, but before she could spend much more time thinking about it, she slipped back into dreamless sleep.  
  
  
Draco woke to find his arm wrapped around Ginny, his face buried in her mane of hair, his lips resting on her neck, and his mouth extremely dry. He untangled himself from her and reached over her to the glass of water that was resting on her bedside table.  
  
The water felt wonderful on his parched throat, and he made a little sighing noise of relief when he finished drinking.  
  
"Alcohol makes you dehydrated."  
  
He looked beneath him to Ginny, who still had her eyes closed. He had thought she was asleep. Twisting, he moved to get out of the bed and was stopped by her voice.  
  
"Come back to bed," she ordered. "Hold me."  
  
"That would be wrong."  
  
"Why?" She queried. Her eyes were still closed and he found that it made it much easier to be strong when she wasn't looking at him.  
  
"Neville..." He began.  
  
"Ah, Neville," she said as if something were just dawning on her.  
  
"Exactly," he sighed in relief. Finally she was seeing his point.  
  
"No offense, Draco," she raised one eyelid. "But your logic isn't exactly ingenious."  
  
"I'm not going to be his stand-in," he argued. "It isn't healthy for either of us."  
  
She propped herself up on one arm, her brown eyes going a bit darker as she became annoyed. "Listen, I believe I've made it more than clear that I'm not having any trouble distinguishing between the two of you. I haven't called you Neville and I haven't thought of you as Neville. What's so difficult to understand about this concept? Honestly. Harry and Ron kept spouting off about how all Slytherins were bloody morons, but I didn't ever actually think you were that stupid."  
  
He opened his mouth to say something, but before a word could form on his lips, she was continuing.  
  
"I've also spent an inordinate amount of time explaining to you exactly what I want. I wanted my wand, and you said 'no.' I wanted to know the truth about Marigold. Again; 'no.' I wanted to go home and get back to work, 'no.'"  
  
"The doctor said..."  
  
"This isn't about the bloody doctor! It's about me wanting to be held because I'm cold and you're warm and Neville's dead!"  
  
Somehow, more than any of the other words, "dead" reverberated through the tension filled air. After a moment, Draco tried to placate her. "Ginny, I didn't mean to..."  
  
"You can't take it back now, Draco. We can't just crawl back into bed and cuddle and have everything be fine." She was almost hysterical now.  
  
"Gin..."  
  
"Don't you 'Gin' me. Calling me 'Gin' implies some semblance of closeness. Through a series of extraordinarily embarrassing incidents you've made it blatantly clear that you don't want to be my friend or my lover, only my overly-polite, stupid, cold host. Call me 'Miss Weasley' until you'll allow me to leave this awful place. Now get me my wand or..."  
  
Ginny fully intended to say that he should get out. She was angry as all hell and someone should have to pay. She never got to finish her sentence, because he had silenced her with his lips. Before she could fully surrender to his kiss, he pulled back.  
  
"Don't ever believe that I don't want you."  
  
He kissed her again, and she knew that this time there would be no mistake about what either of them wanted. He could no longer pretend she thought of him as a Neville substitute, or that it was lack of sleep or nail polish fumes causing her reaction.  
  
He forgot that he was kissing her to make the point that he was attracted to her physically. The sensations made him weak. The curl of her hand around his neck, and the cool palm of the other as it snaked up his chest. Her skin was cool beneath his hands, making the sensation of touching her and being touched by her all the more powerful. Her skin was incredibly soft beneath his fingertips and he knew if he held her much tighter there would be bruises by tomorrow. On the surface of his mind, it frightened him to know that he could hurt her. However, somewhere deep in his psyche it goaded him on, because he wanted to leave his mark on her. He wanted something that would effectively communicate to the world that she belonged to him.  
  
He was playing with her neck, kissing, sucking, biting, licking, when he heard a noise. It was faint, but grew louder when he pulled back from Ginny. Her arms dropped and she looked up at him in confusion.  
  
"There's something tapping on the window," he said rather amazedly. He pulled back the sash on the curtain to see what was making the noise and found an owl hovering about outside. With an air of annoyance he opened the window. "What is it?"  
  
The owl zoomed in, nearly taking his head off. "It appears you've been owled, Miss Weasley."  
  



	17. You've Got Mail

Authors note: Everything save Marigold belongs to J.K.R Thanks to the following people for reviewing: DarkKnight, maidmarian62, spy_angel, StrangerWithMyFace, Serafina, w&m_law, Silver, Rebecca, Robin, VUSunflower, Lana Mavi, Lily James Potter, chix, ~*Snow Angel *~, trowa barton, Juliet_99, ~ANGELina~, Joy, wither256, Mage, izzy, Mari, Great Milenko, Gaea Blackwell, debra and LissaLapin.  
  
Note to all readers: don't be afraid to review individual chapters and not the whole story. I'll take whatever you want to say.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The owl swooped about the Ginny, who was sitting on the bed, before landing on top of the bedside lamp.  
  
"Hullo Hedgewig." Ginny detached the message from the owl's outstretched leg.  
  
"Hedgewig? Isn't that Potters..."  
  
"Harry's owl, yes," she said delightedly. She unfurled the parchment and began to read. Her face dropped.  
  
"Trouble in paradise, Love?" He mocked her."  
  
"Shit. Good, holy shit. Shit, shit, shit."  
  
"Miss Weasley, careful of your language around my virgin ears." Draco tore the letter out of her hands and began reading.  
  
  
Ginny~  
  
I sincerely hope Hedgewig finds you and Mr. Malfoy well. Unfortunately, your vacation is going to have to be cut short. A friend has alerted me to the fact that you'll be receiving some exceedingly bad press in a very short period of time about your choice of vacation spot.  
  
A few hours prior to your receiving this letter, someone alerted both Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil to the fact that you were staying with Draco. By tomorrow, all of England will be hearing about your "sordid affair." Normally I'd say sod it all, let them say what they will, but I suspect your family in general and your mum in particular are going to be very put off.  
  
I'm attempting to track down the leak at the moment. No one knows of this letter, but me. Hopefully Hedgewig will be back before Harry notices her absence.  
  
Good Luck,  
Hermione.  
  
  
  
"Well that can't be good," Draco thought aloud. "But it's not exactly horrific either."  
  
"Draco, do you recall the howlers my Mum used to send while we were in school?"   
  
He rolled his eyes. "It's a howler. I honestly don't know why people make such a great big deal about them. You open them in private, and there isn't much harm at all."  
  
"But that's the kind of humiliation she'd give us in public," Ginny explained. "I'll be hearing about this for the rest of my life!"  
  
"So we do a bit of work with the press," he said matter-of-factly. "It's absurdly simple. You came to pay your condolences for my father, and I asked you to help me dispose of some of his dark arts rubbish."  
  
"Draco, I hated your father."  
  
"Odd, me too," he said with a quirk of his mouth. "Regardless, you're the Minister of Magic, and he was a highly respected member of the wizard community. Besides, you needed to speak with me about the positions I'd have to take over now that my father is gone to the great beyond."  
  
"Still, won't it look a bit odd when I walk out empty handed from 'helping you' remove dangerous equipment?"  
  
"You won't, I have a list of things that are in need of disposal. I'll give you the list and say you've been helping inventory these past few days. Pack your things and I'll find your wand."  
  
"But if I'm helping take inventory why am I leaving?" For some inexplicable reason, she didn't want to leave just yet.  
  
"It's completed well enough for you to report it back to your office.  
  
"But wouldn't it make more sense if I stayed until it was finished?" Why was he so anxious to get her to leave?  
  
He began to walk from the room. "Pack your things."  
  
"I think we need to resolve things before I leave," she started.  
  
He didn't respond, just kept walking.  
  
"You know, are we dating...? Is that what this is? Are we going to tell anyone?"  
  
He spun on his heel to face her. A harsh burst of laughter came forth from his throat. "Dating? Miss Weasely, why on earth would we be dating?"  
  
"Because...well...the kissing was..." she blustered. "It was something special, wasn't it?"  
  
"If by 'something special' you mean 'without any meaning at all' then I think you've hit it right on the nose." She looked like she was going to cry. "I've been in hiding for three years It's a great deal of time, and you're a warm body. It doesn't mean anymore than lust."  
  
She turned to the window to let Hedgewig out, and he walked out the door. Hedgewig gave her an affectionate nip on the ear before winging out into the early evening sky.  
  
"Ginny?"  
  
She turned to fined Minnie sitting on the bed looking worried. Ginny's face was a riot of emotions, and as Minnie watched she forcibly composed herself.  
  
"We're going home," she said in a voice that was falsely bright. "I need to pack."  
  
Minnie watched her walk into the bathroom to gather her toiletries and sighed softly.  
  
"It's a good thing I have the hangover from hell. The man has twenty pairs of shoes if he has a one."  
  



	18. Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Authors note: as always, it all belongs to J.K.R  
  
  
  
  
"Darling?"  
  
Hermione spun from her position at the window to look towards the voice. "Harry, must you really wear that?"  
  
"That" was the invisibility cloak Harry was sporting at the moment. Most people would have been guessing when they accused someone of wearing an invisibility cloak, but not Hermione. After years of extensive training as an auror, her senses were incredibly well honed. A small, almost imperceptible, visual distortion made the bureau behind Harry ripple in a few spots, and this was all the indication Hermione needed. "It's not as if you're going to get mobbed by adoring fans inside the apartment."  
  
A head appeared before her as he pulled back the hood. "One of these days I'm going to sneak up on you."  
  
She smiled and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. An invisible arm snaked around her midsection.  
  
"You know, being invisible could make some things very interesting..."  
  
She slipped out of his grasp and ruffled his hair before walking into the kitchen.  
  
"In your dreams, quidditch boy."  
  
His eyebrows crinkled in consternation. "Why not?"  
  
"Because, if you want to eat tonight you're going to need whatever energy you have to cook."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Very funny. What are we having."  
  
"You are having whatever you choose to make."  
  
"You had the whole day off from work and you didn't even make dinner?"  
  
"I had some business that needed my attention."  
  
"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were being deliberately vague."  
  
"I am." She turned and looked at him seriously. "I can't give away secrets that don't belong to me, Harry. I really wish you wouldn't pry."  
  
Harry was unsure what had gotten Hermione so nattered, but knew that it probably had very little to do with him. Still, apologizing never hurt.  
  
"Herm..."  
  
"I can't do the whole 'bickering wife' thing at the moment, Harry. I need to go." She had this air of unpleasantness about her that she always had when things went wrong. Harry usually tried to bolster her spirits, but before he could say much she was on her way out the door.  
  
"If you absolutely, positively need me, try the ministry. They'll be able to reach me if I'm not in my office."  
  
"Any idea as to when you'll be returning?"  
  
"No bloody clue."  
  
The door swished shut and she was gone.  
  



	19. Let Her Cry

  
When Draco returned, he found Ginny sitting by the fireplace, her belongings stacked next to her chair. He relinquished her wand to her in mock ceremony. "Miss Weasley."  
  
She snatched it from his hand and began to float her luggage towards the fireplace.  
  
"You'll never be able to get through with all that rubbish," he advised.  
  
"I'll manage," she said, though she knew she couldn't. The trunk dropped from midair, and toppled onto its side.  
  
"Don't be belligerent. I'll help."  
  
"Fine."  
  
The load was much lighter for two than it had been for one, and things progressed quickly. Soon, they were standing in her living room.  
  
"Goodbye then," she said rather quickly.  
  
"What no 'thank you' shag?" He asked laughing.  
  
She didn't laugh back, just looked away as tears formed in her eyes. He crossed the room and took her in his arms. She tried to wriggle away from him, but he was much stronger. She settled for refusing to look at him.  
  
"I didn't mean just a warm body," he said truthfully. Her face whipped around to look at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears but still full of hope.  
  
"You know as well as I that the sex between the two of us would be phenomenal." His eyes weren't looking at her with love, but with this weird dancing light behind them that looked like a cobra, right before it struck.  
  
"I guess we'll never know," she said.  
  
His smile was lazy as he replied. "I could force you. It wouldn't be rape. You know that."  
  
She did. Even as she hated every word he spoke, her body trembled at his touch.  
  
"If you ever come to me alone again, I'll take what you've been offering these past few days," he cautioned. His voice changed, became ominous and deadly. "And if you ever even think about mentioning Marigold to anyone, I'll snap your wand in two and leave you to wander the catacombs."  
  
He bent his head down and caught her trembling lips with his own. It was a kiss of possession, of devouring rather than of love. He was branding her, but in such a way so that she could not reciprocate, could only submit. There was nothing delicate about it, none of the subtle, gentleness that Draco's kisses always seemed to end with. Yet it almost killed Ginny to think it would be the last.  
  
He stopped abruptly, spun on his heel and walked through the fireplace.  
  
Ginny collapsed on the loveseat and began to weep.  



	20. Tears and Tissue Paper

Author's terribly long-winded note: Thanks to everybody who's stuck with this story, even though I've taken awhile to update. In addition to moving all my stuff home from college (and using the family compy rather than the beautiful baby I use at school (who shall henceforth be referred to as Mr. J.)) I've had to contend with the start of my summer job, babysitting twin 5 year old boys and their one year old brother (how does a baby weigh 40 pounds?!?!?), who are inordinately fussy. On my superhero's list are: ying zero, stargoddess, Genevieve, panda g. pinke, D.J. Jones, Hallie Marie, chix, LIZARD, foggynite, Grey Lady, Andrea, ~whiterose~, Bryn, Maeve, Water Sprite, debra, Phyllia, Renee, Amber Eyes, kate, Love Gordon, Celia, ~ANGELina~(~Dracaena~), Amber, zoe, DarkKnight, StrangerWithMyFace, spy_angel, Anne, ~*Snow Angel*~, w&m_law (whom I shall refer to as one of my most ardent supporters... Take a hint from her, people. Reviews are delightful in both quality and quantity), maidmarian62, Serafina, Silver, Robin, VUSunflower, Rebecca, Lana Mavi, Lily James Potter, trowas barton, Juliet_99, Joy, Mage, izzy, Mari and LissaLapin.   
  
As always, with the exception of Marigold, everything belongs to J.K. Rowling.   
  
  
  
Hermione paused before knocking at the door to Ginny's flat. When there was no answer, she whispered "Alohorama" and the door opened before her.  
  
"Ginny?"  
  
"She's in the bedroom weeping," said a voice from behind the loveseat. Upon further investigation, Hermione found McGonagall crouching in her cat carrier, hopping from one foot to the other.  
  
"How long has this been going on?"  
  
The cat continued hopping and sounded a bit out of breath. "A few hours. Before that it was the kitchen table. Before the kitchen table it was the floor. Before the floor, the loveseat. As exciting as it has all bee, I've got to piss like a racehorse, pardon my French. If you could just lift the little latch thing..."  
  
Bending down, Hermione liberated the cat and watched with a bemused expression as her former professor scampered out of the room. She supposed it was only natural for a student to feel odd when required to view an admired instructor as anything less than perfect, however the entirety of the McGonagall's situation made it more difficult than anything Hermione could have anticipated.  
  
Moments later, the cat returned. "Well? Why are you standing about in the living room?" The feline queried. "Fix it."  
  
"Well, I'm not particularly used to this sort of thing. Harry and Ron don't really have crying jags all that often."  
  
"I'm under the impression that ice cream and tissue paper are of some assistance in this sort of a situation. You might also want to sing something by the Supremes, whilst using a hairbrush as a microphone," the cat advised.  
  
"I suppose so," Hermione sighed and walked to the bedroom door. "Ginny? You all right in there?"  
  
After much sniffling, Ginny stuck her head out of the door. "I'm fine," Ginny chirped over brightly. "I just have a little cold."  
  
"Miss Weasley, I have never seen a worse liar in my entire life," called out McGonagall. "Miss Granger may be a poor excuse for a friend-"  
  
"I am not-"  
  
"Oh do shut up. You are," the cat said before returning her attention to Ginny. "However, she is also an auror, and while her comforting skills are woefully inadequate, her ability to detect the truth remains intact."  
  
Hermione, having shut up, watched as Ginny and McGonagall attempted to outglare each other.  
  
As at Hogwarts years ago, McGonagall won. It was to be expected.  
  
  
  
"And then," Ginny sobbed into her hot cocoa. "He just walked out."  
  
"A lovely man. Why ever were we not friends with him during our formative years?" Hermione rolled her eyes.  
  
"Because he was an insufferable little beast," McGonagall said logically. "Wait... were you being ironic?"  
  
"He still is," sobbed Ginny. "And I've gone and fallen in love with him."  
  
"I'm sure you'll get over it," soothed Hermione. "For now, the best thing you can do is not think about it more than necessary."  
  
"There's entirely too much to be done to spend your time worrying about that silly git." Minnie agreed. "You'll need to explain things to your family tonight, and then there's the press conference tomorrow."  
  
"And we'll have to get new robes your appointment to minister ceremony."  
  
"All that?" Ginny's eyes went wide.  
  
"And you'll have to help with the wedding. We've chosen you as maid of honor."  
  
"Really? You've made it official?" Ginny's eyes began to fill again.  
  
"Oh, don't cry over it," Hermione said in apology. "I didn't mean rub your nose in my happiness..."  
  
"You'll make a beautiful bride," Ginny sobbed through a partially disintegrated tissue.  
  
"Let her cry," McGonagall advised. "Tell me about the wedding."  
  
"We haven't set a date yet, but we've decided it's going to be muggle."  
  
"No magic?" The cat asked, scandalized.  
  
"Theirs is a love that transcends the barrier between muggle and wizard." Ginny collapsed on the table.  
  
"It'll be much easier for my family, and we can hopefully get all of the wizards who come to tone things down a bit. Plus, it'll be much less of a security nightmare if it's not attended by half the wizarding world."  
  
"True," the cat nodded.  
  
Hermione looked at Ginny, who was dabbing the last of her tears with bits of tissue. "I've got to go. I doubt I'll be there tonight."  
  
"Lucky you."  
  
"Tell Harry not to wait up for me."  



	21. The Eye of the Storm

  
  
When Ginny arrived at her parents' home, she knew something was wrong immediately. Assembled in a half moon around the fireplace she'd just flooed in was her entire family, plus Harry and minus Bill. Her mother was holding the late evening edition of the Prophet.  
  
"I can explain," she said weakly before the yelling began.  
  
"You lied to me Virginia," came from her mother.  
  
From her brother Ron, "He was in cahoots with Voldemort. Probably killed thousands of people."  
  
"His father killed Neville," said a tearful Alicia.  
  
"He probably helped," Fred added.  
  
"Isn't this against the laws of God and man?" Queried Harry.  
  
"SHUT IT!"  
  
The last was from her, and even she herself was a little surprised at the outburst. Silence rang through the room.  
  
"I am sick and tired of your constant babbling. This is exactly why I didn't tell any of you where I was. Dra... erm... Mr. Malfoy has been kind enough to willingly volunteer his fathers dark arts paraphenalia to the Ministry. I've been assisting his extensive inventory process. I'm ashamed that none of you can see past his father's misdeeds."  
  
The silence continued as all eyes stared at her. The only person in the room who seemed nonplussed was her father, who gave her a light hug.   
  
"Good to have you back, Pumpkin. Tea?"   
  
"Not right now, Arthur. Ginny can sit down and calmly explain why she was screaming, and what she's been doing." Mrs. Weasley's demeanor told Ginny that nothing she could say would possibly mullify her. Unless she was sorely mistaken, her mother had been planning to spend the evening in the attic all day.  
  
"Mum, sod off." Turning to Harry, Ginny said "Hermione said not to wait up." She stepped into the fireplace and disappeared.  
  
  



	22. Homecoming Queen

  
Three days later, in the wee hours of the morning, a rustling awakened Harry. Stretching and rubbing his bleary eyes with the heel of his palm. He padded into the kitchen that doubled as the foyer.  
  
The arm of the woman he loved was floating in midair, and a smirk played across his face.  
  
"So Agent Granger. I guess you aren't above using an invisibility cloak every now and again, are you?"  
  
The arm stilled for a moment before Hermione appeared completely. She shot a withering glance his way.  
  
"It's not a cloak of invisibility. It's a cloak of insubstantiation. It's the latest R and D breakthrough."  
  
"Ah. Is that what's kept me up nights ill with worry?" He asked.  
  
She gave him a quick once over. "You'd be able to pull off the martyred boyfriend bit if it wasn't horribly obvious you've only just woken up."  
  
"I've missed you nonetheless," he said with a small smile before folding her into his arms and kissing her neck. "And it's betrothed now, not boyfriend."  
  
"Don't get too amorous. I haven't showered or slept in three days, and you have quidditch practice bright and early tomorrow."  
  
She kissed the side of his cheek and extricated herself from his arms. "Or bright and early today, if you want to get technical."  
  
She hung her cloak up in the closet and grabbed a mug out of the cupboard. It was chipped on the side, and had a picture of a fat, orange cat on it with the words "I wuv my wittle kitty," emblazoned over the image. As if being called, Crookshanks miaowed pitifully from far away.  
  
Hermione ran to the linen closet and opened the door. "Harry! How long have you had my baby locked in there?"  
  
"Well, 'your baby' scratches up the furniture if you let it roam around when you're not here."  
  
"But the linen closet, Harry? Why not the bathroom? Or my study?"  
  
"I spent days trying to find the perfect Tiffany lamp to fit in your study. I'm not going to have the little beast knock it over. And I'm certainly not letting it in the same room with me when I'm naked."  
  
"Fine. I'll make a playpen or something for my precious little kitten-poo." The last bit of this conversation was directed to the cat as she scratched it's chin. "Go see Daddy!" She said pushed the cat into Harry's arms.  
  
"Erm..."  
  
"I have to shower. Bond with the cat, go back to bed, I really don't care, just so long as you realize the expression 'I'd kill for a shower,' isn't so much an expression as it is a statement of intent."  
  
He thought for a moment about following her into the shower, then decided against it. He was hoping for a great deal of explanation, and it was best if she were clean and rested when he asked for answers.  
  
  
  
The water in the shower trickled to a slow drip and footsteps padded over to Hermione's side of the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight as she slipped between the sheets.  
  
As was her habit, she wrestled with the bedclothes in an attempt to squish the comforter off of her without disturbing Harry. She's accidentally trapped one arm in it, and had her ankle wrapped about the bottom when Harry rolled towards her and onto his back.  
  
"Cripes woman! Must you make a production out of everything?"  
  
He pulled the comforter from the bed, tossing it to the floor, and pulled her head to his chest. Resisting all but the most driving need, she drifted into sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  



	23. Living in the Fridge

  
  
Draco was cleaning the oven when he heard Marigold shriek. Sighing, he dropped his scrub brush, and began the obstacle course that was the hallway. He narrowly missed a guillotine, assorted tables with no conceivable purpose, and an exercise bike which hadn't seen the light of day since the popularity of one Jordan McKnight.  
  
He maintained that it was most likely possessed.  
  
Reaching above the doorframe, he felt for the key. Using a muggle key to lock the door was ingenious, if he did think so himself. A billion curses could be hurled at the door, and nothing would happen, save the wizard doing the spell casting would be incredibly put off.  
  
A small splinter of wood caught his index finger and pushed in. "Christ. Like I needed something else to go wrong."  
  
He paused for a moment, weighing his options. He could rush in and comfort Marigold, or he could try to get the damn splinter out of his finger. Wincing against the minor but constant pain in his finger, he unlocked the door and went to see to his daughter.  
  
She was upright in her bed, her tears streaking down her flushed cheeks. Her bedclothes were tangled about her legs, as they usually were after a particularly bad nightmare, and her chest was heaving.  
  
"Where's Aunt Ginny?"  
  
"I made her go home. We don't need her."  
  
In retrospect, Draco would realize that his simple declaration of independence wasn't the right thing to say to Marigold, particularly in her already upset state. He would rethink his words a thousand times, wanting to say something that was appropriately mollycoddling. He would think that anything would have been better than the two simple sentences that made his daughters eyes deepen and darken in pain.  
  
It was Ginny's fault. She'd stormed into his house... or fallen anyway. She'd insinuated herself into his life, into Marigold's life, when there wasn't any way for Ginny to stay. In a few short days she had made it so that everything and everyone in the entire goddamn house reeked of her presence. He couldn't get the scent of rose petals out of his bed, and he'd washed the sheets three times. He shouldn't have cared for her at all, should have just sent her home where she belonged when he first caught a glimpse of her warm brown eyes and fiery red hair.  
  
In hindsight, everyone is a genius.  
  
"She had to go home, Marigold," he tried to explain the situation. "She doesn't belong here." He sat next to the child on the bed, put his arms around her and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb.  
  
"But everything's better with her here," Marigold argued.  
  
"We did fine before we ever met her," he reasoned.  
  
"We haven't been fine in a long time."  
  
"Out of the mouths of babes, eh?" He looked her in the eye. "I'll be honest with you Marigold. She's better without us...erm...me."  
  
"She loves us."  
  
"Who doesn't love you, darling?" He said, desperately trying to change the subject.  
  
"You're being silly. She'd love you even if I wasn't here."  
  
"What makes you think that," he blurted out before regaining his composure. "Even if she did, it wouldn't make a difference. I have secrets Ginny couldn't ever handle."  
  
"What secrets?"  
  
"Secrets that are much too adult to be any of your business, you little snoop," he smiled at her and smoothed her hair with one hand. "Now go back to bed."  
  
"What's wrong with your hand?"   
  
"It's a splinter. I'll deal with it later. Goodnight." He tucked the covers up to her chin.  
  
"Ginny could help take it out if you bring her back."  
  
"Bed. Now."  
  
As he walked out the door, he saw her roll her eyes.  
  
He walked back past the tables, the element of torture, and the guillotine, and into the kitchen. He picked up his scrub brush and justified the idea of non-magically cleaning major appliances before he got back to work.  
  
  
  
  
  
When Harry returned home from practice, he was greeted by a miaowing Crookshanks.  
  
"You weigh twenty pounds if you weigh an ounce. I'm not feeding you anymore."  
  
The cat looked at him with big round eyes that Harry supposed were supposed to be pitiful. Then, the cat turned towards the bedroom and began to trot slowly towards the bed.  
  
"I think not. You'll get the bed all messy and hairy."  
  
The cat replied with a pointed glance at it's empty food dish.  
  
"All right, you furry little tyrant." He scooped a cup full of dry cat nibbles into the dish which proudly proclaimed "Bestest Kitty Ever."  
  
Hermione emerged from the bedroom, toweling her dripping hair. Her eyes were bright and alert and he was surprised that she looked so refreshed after sleeping for 18 hours. She smiled at him.  
  
"So, will I be getting some sort of explanation for your absence or is it top secret spy stuff."  
  
"'Top secret spy stuff?' Are you four? Is that what this 'I'm going to play quidditch forever and ever' thing is about?" She joked.  
  
"I think it was a conscious decision on my part to take a job where I can retire to watch our unruly brood when they come about. It's me being a sensitive man," he told her as he started the coffeepot. "And I think I deserve a break from the whole 'saving the world' bit for awhile."  
  
"That's acceptable," she told him with a kiss on the cheek. "And I might be willing to reveal my secret spy information if I'm given a cup of coffee."  
  
"A bribe? How delightfully scandalous!" Harry remarked as he began to kiss her shoulder where her robe had slipped off.  
  
"Let's talk about where I've been first. It's bugging me."  
  
"Ok," he said, pulling a stool up to the kitchen island.  
  
"Well, I went to find out who had leaked the information about Ginny to the papers," Hermione said as she pulled mugs out of the cupboard. She continued. "It was remarkably easy to find out. Percy's assistant, Nickleby. It's the same old story: unregistered animagus working as a spy for the gossip rags."  
  
"So why three days?"  
  
"He went underground. Thought he could hide in muggle London. Did a pretty pathetic job of it though. He only eluded me for two days, and he was a fly. A remotely competent animagus fly should be able to hide from me for a good week at least."  
  
"So what took up the other day?"  
  
"Comforting Ginny took half a day," she wrinkled her nose. "And then I had to convince Nickleby that what he was doing was wrong and should be stopped immediately."  
  
"So you beat the crap out of him?"  
  
"Officially? No. I merely told him that this behaviour compromised national security and violated the laws against unregistered animagi."  
  
"So what bothers you about that," Harry asked as he stirred sugar into his coffee.  
  
"Well, when I wasn't kicking his ass, he just kept smiling. It was like he knew something I didn't."  
  
"Well, there isn't much to be done about it," Harry said philosophically. "Except for the whole randy sex thing."  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.  
  
"You've been gone for three days, and we are engaged," he explained. "I'm only human."  
  
She stood up and put her coffee mug in the sink and walked into the bathroom. Harry's shoulders slumped forward as he anticipated sleeping on the couch in the den.  
  
"Harry?" Her voice came out from the bathroom. "Put the cat in the linen closet."  
  
  



	24. The Pop Culture Generation

  
Disclaimer: As always, copyright's belong to J.K. Rowling, etc, etc. Marigold and Glin belong to me.  
  
Author's note: I've gotten questions about Ron's loveless life and general non-inclusion in this story. Hopefully, if things go as planned, Ron will be popping up sometime soon, and he may even get a love interest. I'm working my tushie off on this piece, but everyday new ideas keep coming as to how to resolve certain plot problems. I'll give you one hint as for where this might be going. Pansy may be making an appearance sometime. Or maybe she won't. Maybe I'm lying.  
  
Such is the wily and inscrutable way of me.  
  
If you have any questions, comments, suggestions, or pleas (i.e. "I want this to happen") let me know. It just might influence future chapters.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Tell me again why a satellite dish is out of the question."  
  
"Minnie, this really isn't the time. Hermione and Angelina will be here any minute now."  
  
"We'd get Comedy Central. I could watch Jon Stewart."  
  
"And he would be..." Ginny fished for an explanation to McGonagall's mania.  
  
"He's only the news anchor on the most important television program ever," the cat said exasperatedly.  
  
"I'm still not seeing him as a necessity."  
  
"Once we get the satellite dish you will. The man's hot enough he could bubble my cauldron any day."  
  
"A. That's sick. B. No satellite dish, no television."  
  
"But with your absolutely grotesque raise, we'll be swimming in superfluous galleons."  
  
"My 'grotesque' raise isn't going to make a dent in the debt I'm going to be racking up. I still have to buy a dress for Hermione's wedding, and I'll have to get an entire new wardrobe. I can't be going to summits looking like I've stepped straight out of 1994. It would be disgraceful to the entire country." She continued as the cat rolled her eyes and stopped listening. "Plus, I'll probably have to rent a manor house or something. I can't exactly entertain foreign dignitaries in a flat a block away from Knockturn Alley." Ginny became close to hysterical. "I can just see the woman downstairs complaining because the French Minister takes hour long bubble baths and the plumbing's gone all leaky..."  
  
"Fine. Go shopping." The feline shot her a warning glance as someone knocked on the door. "But rest assured, we will be discussing this later, Miss Weasley."  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes and pulled the door open to reveal Hermione. Her hair was pulled neatly back into a French braid, as per usual. She looked rather bored.  
  
"I apparated from practice. Harry gets all nattered up if I don't go and watch every once in a while."  
  
"At least it's something interesting like quidditch," said Angelina as she stepped out of the fireplace. "In addition to an attempted switch with George last week, Fred decided to make me his new test subject. I really think that trusting my husband with a chocolate croissant, when we all know his history with dessert pastries, should be rewarded with something a bit better than being lucky to get the webs off my fingers this morning." She wiggled her fingers as if to demonstrate their recently recovered status.  
  
"Ten sickles says she was a duck," remarked McGonagall.  
  
"My ten goes to a Canada goose," said Ginny.  
  
"Amateur adolescents," Hermione scoffed as she smiled at Angelina. "You were a platypus, weren't you?"  
  
"You really shouldn't gamble with her anymore," said Angelina with a wry smile. "She is an auror."  
  
"Forget it," Hermione said as Ginny reached for her purse. "Angelina's right. I really shouldn't participate in these little contests.  
  
"Speaking of forgetting things, I think I've forgotten something." Angelina's brow furrowed in deep thought. Fishing around in her purse, she retrieved a small, marble-like object. "And according to the this I'm definitely forgetting something. That's odd. I've no clue what..." Her voice trailed off as a neon splash of color shimmering into view beside Hermione.  
  
"Oh, right," Angelina looked sheepish. "Glin insisted on coming along. Hope you don't mind."  
  
"Before you answer that," said the witch. "I promise not to oppress your wardrobe choices if you'll do the same for me."  
  
Considering Glin's taste, the task was easier said than done. While each had their own style, Glin's was most assuredly the wildest.  
  
Today, she sported clear robes. Beneath them was some sort of body suit, fashioned out of vinyl. The vinyl was designed with a print of overlapping lawn flamingoes in varying hues. He short platinum blond hair (surprisingly, it was naturally platinum, rather than out of a bottle.) sported streaks of color corresponding to color of the flamingoes. Completing the look were green go-go boots.  
  
Although, in fairness, Glin's appearance wasn't out of character. As a seventh year transfer student from the Salem School to Hogwarts in Fred and George's class, she'd made quite a splash. Ginny supposed it was because of her upbringing. Her parents had been rather hands off when it came to discipline, having previously believed themselves incapable of reproducing. What they lacked in strategy, they more than made up for in eccentricity, a trait that many wizards believed to be genetic. They had named their little miracle Glinda Theodora Goodrich. The nickname "Glinda the Goodrich" had, most likely, been inevitable.  
  
In deference to her childhood issues, most people she knew now referred to her as "Glin." "Most people" being defined as "everyone but Ron." Ron preferred to call her "Freak of Nature."  
  
Angelina shot Glin's outfit a bemused glance before turning to Ginny. "Where are we going?"  
  
"Well, Padma's store has been in 'Witch Weekly' a few times. I thought we might try there."  
  
They walked down the street with McGonagall trailing behind them, picking her way past mud puddles and bits of litter careless passersby had abandoned on the sidewalk. As Glin contemplated making an appearance in a store that Witch Weekly knew about, let alone mentioned in their articles, she shuddered. Aloud she merely spoke beneath her breath. "How very mainstream and pedestrian of us."  



	25. La Belle de mon Coeur

  
Disclaimer: As always, copyright's belong to J.K. Rowling, etc, etc. Marigold, Pierre and Glin belong to me.  
  
Author's note: Well, I'm trying to be more regular about turning out chapters. Hopefully, this will be appreciated when it comes time for reviewing... I also wanted to thank all my reviewers, because I've passed the 100 mark on reviews and done so within a week and my 19th birthday. Chix, you were my 100th review, your reward, meager as it may be, is this mention. The French in this chapter is insignificant, at best. Merely   
  
  
  
Padma sat at her desk, sipping a cup of tea. Since her mention in "Witch Weekly," the shop had been full of people. Unfortunately, around half of them were just waiting for someone famous to make an appearance. Her two assistants, Natia and Jean-Luc had the throng of window shoppers and celebrity hangers-on under control for the moment, leaving Padma free to linger over her cup of Earl Grey.  
  
The bell signaling arrivals tinkled, and Padma looked at the four women who were now walking towards her. She recognized them, of course, as did everyone in the store. The general shop noises stopped as women whispered to their friends "isn't that...?"   
  
Hermione walked just a step ahead of her companions, not wasting any time getting places. Of the four women, she had changed the most. No longer the harmless, frizzy-haired bookworm, she walked with her head held high and an aura that reeked of danger.  
  
Angelina had changed, too. Rather than the girl with dirt beneath her fingers, she was the woman with pearls around her neck. Her figure was well maintained, but had a few more curves than it had during her quidditch days. She seemed content in her role as liaison between the quidditch players and the team owners for the Cannons.  
  
Glin hadn't changed a bit. She was still trying her hardest to stand out, and was doing a bang up job of it. She was tall, willowy, and classically beautiful. Her outrageous sense of style merely served to guild the lily. The latest gossip placed Glin on the receiving end of a very lucrative offer from one of the top wizarding modeling agencies in Europe.  
  
Padma hadn't really paid much attention to Ginny while they were in school together. She was a grade below them, and a bit of a nothing, so Padma hadn't remembered much about her. She'd seen Neville occasionally, and heard him babble about his beautiful girlfriend, but she hadn't really expected his description to be accurate. Yet here she was with the porcelain skin and mane of red hair that he'd waxed poetic about.  
  
"Hello ladies. Need any assistance?"  
  
Hermione smiled broadly. "Hello Padma. Things are going well?"  
  
"I can't complain. The only downside to publicity is all of the tourists it brings. Is there anything in particular you're looking for today?"  
  
"We'll be needing new dress robes for Ginny's appointment ceremony."  
  
"Of course. Natia and Jean-Luc are busy with the masses, so I'll be seeing to you personally. Follow me please."  
  
Padma led the four women and the familiar looking tabby cat that was following them out of the show room and into her studio. Bolts of French lace, Chinese silk, and Italian leather were haphazardly strewn across the work table, and a paper cup was laying on its side on the floor. "Excuse the mess. Pansy Parkinson was in here earlier and just couldn't survive without looking at every scrap of fabric in the place. Didn't buy anything, mind you, just made a nuisance of herself. I suspect she just wanted to make an appearance. If you ask me, I'd say her tastes were better suited to the Knockturn Alley shops. Accio." The paper cup flew into Padma's outstretched hand, and she placed it in the wastepaper bin next to the table. "I'm sorry. That was terrible catty of me. I can't think what's come over me lately. It's probably the stress. Ginny, let's start with you. Come into the light and let me get a good look at you."  
  
Ginny obliged and stepped forward. "I'm not looking for anything spectacular, just something that'll hide all the little bulges."  
  
"Nonsense. You have a fantastic figure. Besides, no one wears Padma and looks anything less than devastating. It's my only rule." She circled Ginny, tilting her head and making a contemplative face. "Aubergine for the actual ceremony." She said cryptically. "Not too red, of course. We don't want to clash with the hair. Much more of a raisin than eggplant really. What are you doing for the gala afterwards?"  
  
"I hadn't really thought of if. I guess I'm supposed to plan it."  
  
Glin spoke up from her perch on a stool by the window. "What about a costume ball. It'd be a nice break from the stuffy ceremony in the morning. And it'd certainly be easier than convincing your brothers to wear dress robes all day long."  
  
Angelina looked shocked. "For once, Glin's come up with a smashing, yet socially acceptable, idea. Now we've only got to decide what to go as."  
  
"And book a reception hall, and hire caterers, and decorate, and owl invitations," Hermione added practically. "But after that, it'll take care of itself."  
  
"I sew costumes, too, if you need any assistance in that department. Let me get Natia in here to help me take measurements and we'll get down to business."  
  
  
  
  
The women exited the shop with a spectacular feeling of accomplishment. Since it was only one, they ambled down the streets. After a short stop in "Flourish and Blots" to buy invitations, they committed themselves to window-shopping. Angelina was the first to notice the newest addition to Diagon Alley, a small and exclusive jewelry store called "Dazzle."  
  
Feeling a desperate urge to accessorize, Angelina convinced the other women to take a look. The store was sparsely decorated, with a single glass display case, behind which say an impossibly old, little man wearing a small beret.  
  
"Bonjour mes petites! You have found my little shop, eh?"  
  
"We're just looking," Hermione advised him. Best not to get the old man's hopes up when they were all on a budget because of their new robes.  
  
"Bon, bon. But if you ladies find anything you like, you tell Pierre. I'll make you a deal. Pretty girls like yourselves should wear jewels tout le temps."  
  
The women looked over the display case. It was filled with beautiful rings, necklaces and more. Each piece was different, each an exquisite work of art.  
  
"You make these yourself?" Glin asked.  
  
"Oui, ma fleur. Pierre makes them all."  
  
Glin smiled at the elderly man. It was nice to see someone who took pride in their craft, rather than in the money it brought in. "Which one's your favorite?"  
  
"Ah. A good question. I do not keep her in the case. Too many false men with money in their pockets. I keep her to myself until I know the time is right to let her go. But I will show you, mes petites chou-fleurs."  
  
The old man bent low below the case, and Ginny half expected his back to make a creaking noise. When he stood, he was holding a dusty purple velvet box. He placed it before them. "'La Belle de mon Coeur." He opened the box to display a deep red jewel on a pale gold chain. "'The Beauty of my Heart.' She is my masterpiece. I make her for my Isobelle. A Burma ruby, the rarest of all gems, set in the best gold. My Isobelle died of small pox on the night I finished. Now 'La Belle' will wait for it's next beauty." He watched as the women's eyes began to glaze over with tears. He snapped the box shut. "Enough of that. No crying. Isobelle and I- we have 10 happy years. To be truly happy, even for just a moment is worth more than the entire shop. Go home now, mes belles dames, and tell your husbands that you love them. Then give them this." He gave them each a business card as he escorted them out the door. "Men are not so good at saying it back."  



	26. RSVP

  
Disclaimer: As always, copyright's belong to J.K. Rowling, etc, etc. Marigold, Pierre and Glin belong to me.  
  
Author's note: Hopefully, this series of small vignettes will satisfy some of the people who've been begging to see certain individuals make an appearance.  
  
  
  
Draco stared at the bit of parchment in his hand. Silver embossed letters winked at him as he tried to figure out an appropriate response...  
  
"Mr. Draco Malfoy regrets to inform Miss Virginia Weasley that he shall be unable to attend, due to a previous engagement..."  
  
"Mr. Draco Malfoy will be unable to attend Miss Virginia Weasley's Costume Gala because he is feeling under the weather..."  
  
"I'm not coming ~ Malfoy."  
  
"Mr. Draco Malfoy wishes that the Minister would stay out of his damned life."  
  
"It is with great regret that Mr. Draco Malfoy must inform Miss Virginia Weasley that he shall be unable to attend due to his inability to control his libido. As this event will be held in mixed company, he feels it would be inadvisable to attend, warranting his inability to be in the same room with Miss Weasley without forcibly removing her clothing and shagging her senseless."  
  
Unfortunately, years of social obligation weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he ended up scribbling out something his mother would have been proud of on the provided R.S.V.P. slip.  
  
"Mr. Draco Malfoy would be delighted to attend Miss Weasley's Appointment Costume Gala. He would prefer the chicken marsala to the beef wellington."  
  
  
  
  
Ron stubbed his cigarette out nervously into the ashtray sitting on the café table before them. He really had to quit smoking. It was going to ruin his lungs. Fleur looked disinterested as usual, but was laying the accent on rather thickly, which generally signified her annoyance.  
  
"Ronald, I do not zee why vee must go. She is a silly little girl who won't last the year as mistress of magic."  
  
"Minister. It's not a gender thing, it's the title of the job, regardless of who's in office," he corrected her. Funny, he'd found her complete and total ignorance to be endearing once. Now, it was merely one more thing that made it glaringly obvious that the only virtue she had to offer was her beauty. True, with her diluted Veela blood, her beauty was fantastic, more of an aphrodisiac than anything he'd experienced before. However, after awhile, the aphrodisiac became less potent, and Ron began noticing that Fleur was less perfect than the average person he saw walking down the street.  
  
He found it mildly amusing that the gossip rags hadn't played up his proposal to Fleur more. He'd been incredibly smashed the night he'd suggested it, and she'd taken the opportunity to make a scene. She laughed in his face, said she was tired of playing around with a nothing when she was one of the most beautiful women in the world. The next day he hadn't remembered much other than her making a scene, but it all came back to him when he read Lavender's column.  
  
He'd watched Fleur read the papers day after day, her perfect face skimming the articles, looking for her own name. She was a shameless publicity hound, and wasn't above doing something outrageous just to see her name in print. It was immensely amusing to see her face as she read about the unidentified French woman to whom Ron Weasley had proposed. She'd slapped him, and he'd know the relationship would be over within a month. In retrospect, if he had wanted the relationship to be anything more than a dalliance, he shouldn't have laughed quite so hard.  
  
So here he sat, passing time with a woman who was nothing more than an annoyance to him. She was boring, ignorant, and he thought he might be using glamour spells to cover the tiny imperfections that every woman had. The lack of imperfection in her physical appearance only highlighted her character flaws. Perhaps he'd just end it now, blandly, calmly in this little café on the Avignon sidewalk. There was only one problem. He wasn't in the mood for a scene, and he hadn't been listening to what she'd said for the last five minutes.  
  
"Vee could go to New York or zomsing. Malkin's is 'aving a preview for her spring line in a few weeks and..."  
  
"I don't think this is working," he replied abruptly. "I'm going to Ginny's thing. You can tool about in New York if you like, but you'll have to do it on your own."  
  
"Ronald, I'm not going to New York alone. You'll come or I'll bring Claude along. I'll have a tumultuous affair with him and you'll be horribly jealous and lonely. Zen, you'll come crawling back to me." She used her sexy-warning glance that she'd spent years perfecting.  
  
"Have an affair with him if you like. This has been boring for months, and I'm going to end it before it gets worse."  
  
Her eyes flashed and she stood, throwing her glass of chablis in his face. "You will regret zis Ronald!"  
  
She swung her hair over her shoulder and began to march out before Ron grabbed her wrist. "Fleur, one more thing. Claude's gay. He grabbed my ass last week."  
  
Fleur wrenched her arm from him and left the restaurant in a rage. Ron pulled out a quill out of his satchel and began to write a response to Ginny's invitation.  
  
"Gin, I'll be there. I ditched the blond and I'll be having the chicken, of course. Don't you read the papers? Everyone's afraid of the mad cow thing still. I heard from this Parisian that some beef-tips liquified his cousins intestines or something."  
  
  
  
  
Pansy Parkinson looked down at the invitation in her hand. She knew she'd only been invited because her family was ridiculously prominent. She wasn't stupid enough to mistake a gesture of social obligation for a genuine interest in her company. She also knew that her the rumors of her involvement with the Death Eaters, of her dabbling in the Dark Arts. The rumors about her negated her responsibility to attend.  
  
Truth be told, she'd never dabbled in anything in her life. Pansy didn't do things half-assed.   
  
She flipped the little parchment in her hand, to the RSVP side and began writing. She would have the chicken, Jet would have the beef.  
  
After all, just because she didn't have to go, didn't mean she wasn't going to.  



	27. Chez Maurice

  
Disclaimer: As always, copyright's belong to J.K. Rowling, etc, etc. Marigold, Pierre and Glin belong to me.  
  
Author's note: Well, I've asked some people if they'd like to summarize this story (the current summary is a little shabby) If you'd like to submit a summary, please e-mail it to mlpmama@yahoo.com , or write it in your review of this chapter (hint, hint, wink, wink, nudge, nudge.) Additionally, if you'd like to appear in a cameo in this story, please e-mail me with a character name, physical description, and some background. Thanks,  
  
~The Glitterpixie  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry was in the den, almost asleep on the couch with a quilt pulled over his shoulders, when he heard the front door open. Crookshanks looked up from his favorite napping place, Harry's leather armchair. The cat stretched, yawned, then padded into the kitchen to greet Hermione. Harry thought about getting up for a moment before he surrendered to the warm comfort of the quilt.  
  
It had rained that day, but quidditch practice had gone on anyway. They were professionals after all, and they had needed the practice. He'd been caught on the cheek by a stray bludger, and had been suffering from a pounding headache ever since. Because the bludger could have been easily avoided, he hadn't told anyone how badly it hurt, and the injury had gone untreated. By the time he'd reached home, he couldn't concentrate enough to heal it himself. He'd changed into dry clothing, and settled down on the couch to take a nap.  
  
He'd almost fallen asleep again when a very fuzzy Hermione wobbled into view. "Harry? What happened to your face?" She said with concern in her voice.  
  
"Stray bludger, headache," he murmured.  
  
Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Oh honestly. What the hell are Thurgood and Harmon playing at? They're the beaters for Pete's sake! They're supposed to be handling the blasted things!"  
  
Harry sat up very slowly. "Wasn't their fault. I was thinking about costumes."  
  
"We'll just completely ignore that and pretend you've just said something very manly about thrashing people and swilling things."  
  
"I didn't mean it all swishy. They were cool costumes. I could be Bond, and you could be a Bond girl..."  
  
"Let me have a look at your eyes."  
  
"At least think about being a Bond girl."  
  
"Let me look."   
  
Harry acquiesced, and Hermione looked at his pupils. They were slightly dilated as she had expected. "It's a mild concussion. Lay down and let me fix it."  
  
"Promise you'll be a Bond girl," Harry demanded.  
  
"I'm not sure if you're getting the concept of me healing you. You've evidently been hit much harder than I thought. You see, Potter, I'm doing you a favor," Hermione said condescendingly. "If you don't want me to heal you, that's fine. I won't."  
  
"All right. I'll just lay here on the couch and take a nap."  
  
"You can't take a nap, you have a head injury," Hermione said in disbelief.  
  
"I guess I'll just have to chance it," Harry said as he yawned theatrically. "I'm sooo tired."  
  
"Let me fix it."  
  
"Bond girl."  
  
"Fine. But I'm not going to be one of the ones with the creepy names." Hermione went to work, first by manually washing the injured side of Harry's face, then by magically soothing the bruise and the headache with a reparo charm modified to include a swelling-specific reducto charm. She finished the repair job by kissing his cheek lightly and smoothing his messy hair away from his face. "Still tired?"  
  
"Mhmm."  
  
"Tragic. You'd promised Ron you'd meet him for dinner, and you know how rarely he's in town."  
  
"I'm sick," Harry whined. "I've been running myself ragged today."  
  
"The only thing you're sick with is a near fatal case of the pathetics." Hermione said unsympathetically. "Now go put your dress robes, we're going to Chez Maurice."  
  
"I hate French..."  
  
"You're being terribly whiny about seeing someone who is more important to you than I am. And I only made the reservations there because I'm making a friendly overture towards Fleur, even though I think she's a hussy."  
  
"Are you still on about that? It was over ten years ago. Things change. Plus, they needed to have someone at the bottom of the lake for Krum. Maybe it was process of elimination. Maybe they figured that Krum shouldn't have been all left out just because he didn't have any friends."  
  
"Or so you maintain, Double-O-Justification," Hermione said. "I don't really mind all that much, as long as you promise not to have any wild affairs with Ron."  
  
"Done and done." Harry sighed and stood. "Let's beg off early tonight. My muscle's are all cramped and I need a backrub and an early night."  
  
"I can almost guarantee the backrub, but not the early night if you go get dressed right now and stop whining. And if you aren't all catty to Fleur."  
  
"I think that's really more of a female reaction."  
  
"Right. Well then, try to control me a little bit more."  
  
  
  
  
  
The couple arrived at Chez Maurice to find Ron standing in the busy entryway. He was pressed against the wall by rest of the crowd, who were being told by the excessively snooty Maitre 'D that they needed to quiet down so that their patrons would not be disturbed. Hermione and Harry navigated their way through the crowd to Ron.  
  
"Is Fleur in the bathroom, or has she had a tantrum or something?" Hermione said pleasantly as Harry elbowed her.  
  
"Nah, I've broken up with her."  
  
"Oh, that's too bad," Hermione said sympathetically.  
  
"Not really. I've ditched her for good this time. She was beginning to bore me. So you can be catty about her now if you like."  
  
"She wasn't good enough for you," Hermione said. "That was the only reason I was catty about her."  
  
"Let's not waste time talking about her. I'm hungry. Go talk to the Maitre 'D. He wouldn't let me in earlier."  
  
Hermione led the way through the masses of people this time. The Maitre 'D smiled when he saw her.   
  
"Mademoiselle Granger! You are here for your seven-o-clock reservation? Bon. Luc! Ici! Mademoiselle Granger's party of four is ready to dine." A waiter appeared from thin air beside the Maitre 'D, and grabbed four velvet covered menus from behind the reservations podium.  
  
"Actually, Louis, we've had a cancellation. It'll only be the three of us tonight."  
  
"Luc, put the menus away, maintenant! Mademoiselle Granger, I do not understand," he looked at her in condescension. "This is Chez Maurice, the premiere French restaurant in England. When we make reservations at Chez Maurice for four, four of us show up, not three, or we do not eat at Chez Maurice, comprendez Mademoiselle?"  
  
"Oui, Louis. I'll find us an appropriate fourth as soon as I can."  
  
"Bon Mademoiselle. It is five to seven now. I suggest we find our fourth quickly before I must give our table to someone less deserving."  
  
Hermione led the trio outside to the sidewalk.  
  
"Let's just have Italian," Harry suggested.  
  
"Forget it, Harry. Louis has a memory like a steel trap. We wouldn't want to be black-balled. We wouldn't be able to eat anywhere in the city."  
  
"Isn't she being a little dramatic?" Ron asked Harry.  
  
"I'd appreciate it if you addressed me when you were asking a question of me, Ronald."  
  
At Ron's rolling of the eyes, Harry cut in to the argument. "I'd back off Ron. She knows 10 ways to kill you using only her pinkie toe."  
  
"I think your being facetious. He's being facetious, isn't he, Herm?" When Hermione's reaction was less than favorable, he changed the conversation topic. "So, what singletons do you know?"  
  
Hermione thought for a moment before her eyes lit up. She smiled wickedly. "Be back with our fourth in a moment boys."  
  
She shimmered out of view, and Ron looked at Harry worriedly. "That wasn't by chance her 'I'm setting Ron up with a beautiful model' look, was it?"  
  
"It was more her 'I'm going to get him' look. Sorry Ron." He clapped his friend on the back.  
  
Minutes later, Hermione was back. "She'll be here in just a moment. She was dancing around the apartment and had to put some clothes on," Hermione said in explanation.  
  
"Who, exactly?" Ron asked. "And why did she need to change clothes? Was she in her pajamas or something?"  
  
"Glin," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "And no, she wasn't in her pajamas."  
  
Glin appeared beside Hermione then, dressed rather tamely in sparkly purple robes cut low across her chest. "What are we talking about, and who wasn't in her pajama's?"  
  
"Yours. Ron asked if you had to change out of your pajamas," Harry provided helpfully.  
  
As Hermione led the group back inside, Glin linked her arm companionably with Ron's. "Actually, Hermione was wrong. I sleep in the nude, too."  
  
Ron blinked and swallowed convulsively.  
  
Glin gave a smile of pure, female satisfaction, before bouncing forward to stand next to Hermione. "Bonjour Louis!"  
  
"Bonjour Mademoiselle Glin. Comment Cava?"  
  
"Tres bien."  
  
"Bon, Mademoiselle Glin." The Maitre 'D barked out a command. "Luc! Quatre pour Mademoiselle Granger! Maintenant!"  
  
The waiter again appeared out of nowhere and Ron, Hermione, and Harry began following him to the table. Glin waited behind a moment to whisper confidently to the Maitre 'D. "I still have it, don't I Louis?"  
  
"Bien sur, Mademoiselle. Bien sur."   



	28. We all wear a mask

Authors note: I mean no copyright infringement towards JK Rowling by writing this piece of fanfiction. Here's the (hopefully) anxiously awaited cameo chapter. If you don't find yourself in it somewhere, e-mail me, and I might put you in a later chapter.  
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny surveyed the room, looking at the people who'd come. For some reason, she hadn't expected this huge of a turnout. It seemed since she had official been appointed Minister that morning, people were scrambling to get on her good side.  
  
The ceremony itself had been simple. A palm placed on the International Confederation of Warlocks Revised Code, then a simple declaration to the ministry, the United Kingdom, and the wizarding world.  
  
The robes Padma had made were simple and stylish. Since the ceremony had take place on the front steps of the Ministry, Padma had designed coordinating cloaks for each of them. Ginny's cloak was simple black, and it went well with the sedate brownish-red color Padma referred to as "aubergine." Angelina's robes were a deep violet matched with a cloak of the same hue, only a few shades lighter. Black robes with a white silk cloak were worn by Hermione. Amazingly tame was Glin, in robes of pristine white, and a cloak of gold. The men wore plain black dress robes.  
  
After the ceremony they'd all apparated home to change into their costumes. Since her friends and family were notorious for being late, she wasn't overly worried that she hadn't seen them at the ball yet.  
  
A hand snuck over her shoulders and squeezed them. It was a brotherly thing to do, and she looked over at Harry. Years ago, his gesture would have been awkward, because of her schoolgirl crush. Now it was natural for him to hug her, as if he were a brother, but without all the sibling rivalry.  
  
"Nice costume," she remarked. Harry was wearing a very plainly cut muggle tuxedo. "Although it didn't require very much research, I suppose. I mean you were raised by muggles."  
  
Harry looked scandalized and began to splutter. "I'm not...a muggle? You actually thought I'd come dressed as a muggle? I'm James Bond! Double-oh-seven! I've got a license to kill! I'm an international man of mystery!"  
  
"Oh," said Ginny in a tone of disinterested astonishment. "From the muggle movies."  
  
"Yes, from the muggle movies," said Hermione as she walked up behind them. I told Harry no one would recognize us."  
  
"No, I recognize you," Ginny told her. Hermione's hair was loose and curled about her face, and her make-up was obvious, yet glamorous. She was wearing a pale blue sparking gown with a slit up the side that almost reached her waist. Tucked into the interior of her occasionally visible garter was a small gun. Hermione's ensemble led Ginny to one conclusion. "You're a singer in a seedy nightclub."  
  
"Good Cripe!" Exclaimed Harry. "She's a Bond girl! I'm Bond, she's with me, therefore..."  
  
Hermione cut him off by kissing him passionately. At his dazed expression she replied. "You were babbling again, Bond."  
  
"Herm, look at Glin!" Ginny gestured across the room to where Glin was chatting animatedly with a leggy woman with honey blond hair.  
  
Glin's short mop of hair was curled into small, delicate ringlets, rather than its usually artfully shaggy look. It was all the same shade of platinum blonde, and it's only adornment was a thin gold circlet. Her dress was a sheath of white silk, gathered at one shoulder in the style of a toga.  
  
Predictably, Glin noticed that someone was staring at her, and began to make her way over to join them as Ron popped up beside them. "What've I missed?"  
  
"Not much. Harry's been pouting, and Glin's on her way over," Hermione summarized. "And what exactly are you supposed to be?"  
  
Ron appeared to be dressed as the ultimate mixed-up fairy tale. He was wearing a simple toga, a bow, quiver of arrows, and wings. "I'm Cupid, God of Love," he explained brandishing an rubber-tipped arrow with a heart painted on its feathers. "What's Glin dressed as? A nudist?"  
  
"Don't you wish," came a voice from the floor. It was McGonagall, dressed as some sort of a Cat-God.  
  
"We're not exactly sure," Ginny told him. "She went with the whole toga thing too. 95% of the damn party went with the toga thing."  
  
By this time, Glin and her companion had picked their way across the room. "Killer ensembles. This is Sheridan, she's with Malkins, but she'll probably be upgrading within the next fiscal year."  
  
Sheridan looked every bit the model. Every strand of her perfect honey blonde hair was in place, although it didn't look like she'd used hair tonic at all. Her dark blue eyes matched her toga and perfectly manicured nails. Her accent was light, but unmistakably southern.  
  
"Sheridan, these are some of my friends. The one in the muggle suit it Harry, that's Herm with him. You know Ginny from the papers, and that's her idiot brother Ron."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes and kissed the top of Sheridan's extended hand. "Enchanted."  
  
Sheridan murmured something indistinct in response. While Ron seemed to be flirting with her, she seemed less than interested in him. She was saved when the rest of the Weasley clan arrived. They hugged Ginny while exchanging pleasantries with her friends.  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wandered off as the rest of their little group people-watched. Gillian Fairweather, a medi-wizard they'd met on Christmas eve, was attempting to calm down an irate brunette woman who'd had Butterbeer spilled on her. A very tan girl in a costume from the Victorian era was gossiping with a blonde Egyptian. A young girl dressed as a water-nymph stood with her shoulders slumped against the wall, obviously dragged to the gala by her parents. Dumbledore, who was dressed as a bee was dancing with Tracy Knight, one of Hermione's auror friends, who was dressed almost identically to Sheridan, but her toga was dark green. Maggie Ferran, who was an up and coming witch with the muggle artifacts department was wearing the same ensemble in a deep royal purple and was dancing with Colin Creevey.  
  
Angelina, who was dressed as a warrior goddess, and Alicia, who was radiant as a ladle, walked off to get drinks as Fred, decked out as Tarzan, and George, who was a cauldron, began chatting with a pirate who was making them a business proposal. Bill, who was costumed as the two faced god Janus, invited Sheridan to dance, making Ron's face go all red. Charlie, who was dressed as a knight in full and uncomfortable armor wandered off to lean against a wall and chat with Padma, who was dressed all in black with little silver stars.  
  
Sirius, dressed as the great hunter Orion, came over to say his hellos and drew Harry and Hermione into a conversation about where he'd been hiding for the past few years. Lupin was aptly dressed as Hugin, one of the Norse God Odin's pet wolves. "Hugin was traditionally associated with memory," he told the group, before he and Minnie curled up beneath a table to chat.  
  
Left with only her brother or Glin to talk to, Ginny automatically turned to Glin. "So what're you dressed as?"  
  
"Well, I wanted to be a princess, but the whole Greek/Roman thing is in so I decided to be a princess in a toga. So I'm Psyche, the youngest daughter of a King. Sheridan is Tisiphone, one of the Furies." She looked at Ginny who was holding a hand over her mouth and laughing so hard she was almost out of breath. "What's so funny?"  
  
"Ron...is Cupid," Ginny said in a pant. "Cupid and Psyche were lovers who were almost torn apart by Cupid's mother, Aphrodite. If you're lucky, no's come as Aphrodite."  
  
"No such luck. I saw Fleur earlier. She was all tarted up in a red dress with little heart cut outs. Unless she's come as a rabid valentine, we're in for our own little Greek tragedy here." Glin smacked Ron in the back of the head.  
  
"Hey!" Ron rubbed the back of his head. "What the hell was that for?"  
  
"For coming as Cupid," she told him as if it made perfect sense. "Why couldn't you have come as Prometheus?"  
  
"You fancy me a hero who gave fire to mankind?"  
  
"No, I fancy you someone who has his liver pecked out by birds for all eternity. I've come as Psyche, and Fleur's come as Aphrodite."  
  
"Fleur's here?" Ron said in confusion.  
  
"A little slow on the uptake, aren't we Cupid?"  
  
"But if Fleur's here then she's going to make a scene..." Ron reasoned aloud.   
  
"Let's dance," Glin suggested.  
  
"Isn't that just inviting trouble?" Ron hesitated.  
  
"She's going to be all weird anyway. Why not have fun while we can?"  
  
United by the bond of being scared of a crazy woman, Glin and Ron darted onto the dance floor. Ginny looked after them enviously. They fought like cats and dogs, and even they were having a good time. She wished Neville were there. Even if he'd been awkward and clumsy he'd been better than nothing. Her parents came by and told her that they were heading back to the Burrow, because her father's back was troubling him.  
  
The girl she'd recognized earlier as a water-nymph skulked over in the company of another girl who was dressed as a forest faerie. The forest faerie spoke up when her companion elbowed her. "I'm Maya, and this is my friend Emily, and my...er... Altra. We're wondering what exactly you're dressed as, Ministress-Mistress...?"  
  
"It's just Minister Weasley. Minister is the job title, and it doesn't change just because a woman holds the title," Ginny explained patiently. She'd faced this question an innumerable amount of times in the past few days. As for her costume, she didn't think it was that difficult. After all, Goddesses were "in" according to Glin. "What did you think I was?"  
  
"Well, Altra thought you were probably the sun. I figured something less specific, like fire."  
  
Before Ginny could answer, someone spoke for her.  
  
"It's simple," said the cool voice. "She's Aurora, Goddess of the Sun." Draco looked down at her as she spun to face him. Her pale skin was brought to a rosy glow by the color of the gown she wore. It was magenta, with a short tea-length skirt, and was overlaid with jagged panels of shimmery translucent orange. He thought the colors should have clashed with her red hair, but for some reason it worked. It was a simple costume, that highlighted her beauty rather than trying to enhance it. His eyes hit the girls behind him who were staring at him in silence. "Off you go. The Minister's busy now. And stop pouting Altra. This is the social event of the century. Go find some boy to bother." He watched the wheels turning in the girl's head as her friends tugged on her arm. Altra's parents were Death Eaters, relatively low on the chain of command and therefore unpunished for their crimes against humanity. They were just a few of the people who would have liked to have Draco's hide for betraying the dark lord. Apparently, they'd painted Draco as a loose cannon, someone with no ties and no loyalties, because a small flash of fear hit the girl's eyes before she went back to lurking in the shadows.  
  
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on one's perspective, they weren't alone a moment before someone came to invite Ginny to dance. The man was tall, with olive skin and dark hair. "Jet Frangoso," he murmured as he kissed the back of her hand. "Would you do me the honor of dancing with me Minister?"  
  
Draco's hand moved possessively over Ginny's arm. She shook it off and walked into Jet's arms. As they danced away, she caught a glimpse of silver eyes darkening with anger.  
  
  
  
  
  
Bill was absolutely enchanted with the creature he found in his arms for most of the evening. Sheridan was 100 proof Southern Belle. She was beautiful, nice, and had figured out his costume right off the bat. Remarkably, for all her beauty, she was rather shy about it, not wanting to talk about her modeling career much, wanting to know more about him and his family. He eventually steered the conversation back around to her.  
  
"So why is your costume so similar to those other womens?" He was talking about the almost identical ensembles he'd seen in green and purple.  
  
"They're Malkin's originals. She made sure that only three of her customers had the outfit. We're the Erinyes, or Furies. I'm Tisiphone, the girl in purple is Alecto, and the girl in green is Megaera."  
  
"Do you know each other?"  
  
"Only through Madame Malkin. I don't think they're models though."  
  
Bill danced with her awhile longer, before making a date for the next weekend and relinquishing her to one of the teenaged boys who'd been looking to cut in.   
  
  
  
  
  
Glin found dancing with Ron oddly comfortable. He was too occupied with keeping a lookout for Fleur that he didn't have time to talk. If only he stopped talking more often, they might actually get along. She laid her head on his shoulder and settled closer into his arms. They were really more alike than either of them liked to think. Ron's expenses were paid for by the stock dividends from Three W's that he owned. Her's were paid for by a large trust fund her parents had left her. She wondered exactly what Ron did with his spare time, other than Fleur. Did he carefully schedule almost every minute of the day with club and store openings, making sure he always had something to do? Did he belong to a wizard's chess club? She'd always heard he was rather good at chess. Perhaps she should challenge him sometime.  
  
Ron automatically tightened his arms around her, rocking back and forth in time with the slow, melodic music. He'd thought that she would smell like hair-spray and cheap perfume. Instead, she smelled lightly of citrus, as if she'd dropped a bit of sweet orange oil on her wrists and then left the house. There was a little mole on the side of her neck, only occasionally visible through the shifting ringlets of hair. One of her eyes was a tiny bit bigger than the other, a trait that he'd noticed on almost everyone. He could see why she was being offered a modeling contract. Beneath all the lacquer, she really was quite attractive. The small physical imperfections only made her more attractive. He closed his eyes and reveled in the delight of not fighting with her.  
  
Unfortunately, he was pulled out of his bliss by an insistent tapping on his shoulder. He separated himself slightly from Glin, but continued to dance. Keeping his voice low and calm, he addressed the problem. "Hello, Fleur. Is something wrong?"  
  
"You've taken up with zis tramp, 'aven't you? How dare you cheat on me, Ronald?" She asked angrily.  
  
"Did she just call me a tramp?"  
  
"I'm dealing with it, Glin," Ron told her quietly. "Fleur, I know for a fact you weren't invited. Why don't you go see to your date?"  
  
"Do not get angry with moi for zeeing other men when you prance about with floozies."  
  
Glin's eyes slid past Ron's and focused on Fleur. "If you call me that again, I'll make sure that the press release Ron's prepared chronicling your many inadequacies as a girlfriend and a woman is given to every major fashion magazine before the night is over."  
  
"And who are you to speak for Ronald?" Fleur asked haughtily.  
  
"Your replacement. And unless you want the entire industry to know about you glamouring your cellulite off, I'd suggest you step off."  
  
Although Fleur seemed to be unfamiliar with the American phrase, she seemed to get the gist of Ginny's threat. She flipped her perfect hair over her shoulder and walked away.  
  
"Sorry about the whole replacement bit," Glin said sheepishly. "I guess I took too many acting classes. I just got carried away..."  
  
"I didn't really mind that much," he admitted before pulling her back into his arms.  
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny was looking over Jet's shoulder, hoping to make eye contact with someone who would come rescue her. It wasn't that Jet was a bad dancer, it was just that his hands kept roaming south of the border. She almost caught Bill's eyes, but he was gazing dreamily at Glin's friend Sheridan. A quick survey of the room found everyone she knew unavailable for saving.  
  
She reached to move Jet's hands again, only to find someone doing it for her. She was quickly extricated from his arms, and found herself standing between a very angry Draco and a very annoyed Jet. Draco looked ready to duel with the other man. "If you want to manhandle something, try your fiance," he said coldly.  
  
"Hey, she didn't seem to mind to much..." Jet said smugly.  
  
"She's mine. You don't touch what's mine, got it?"  
  
"Why don't we let her decide for herself?" Jet said as he winked at Ginny suggestively.  
  
Before Draco could belt him, she grabbed his arm and led him away from Jet. She stepped into his arms to dance, and his arms fastened tightly about her waist. She sighed and wiggled to loosen his grip and put a little bit of distance between them. "If you couldn't act civilized, why did you even come?"  
  
"Because I couldn't stay away," he ground out as if admitting the pull she had over him caused him pain. His eyes looked haunted as he looked down at her. His arms tightened about her once again.  
  
She sighed in defeat and just let herself enjoy being in his arms. They danced until the musicians began to pack up their instruments. She shrugged out of his arms. Her friends were standing in a corner looking concerned, and she started to go to them. He pulled her back into his arms and put his lips to hers. It was different from their last kiss, not about possession, but about longing, and needing.  
  
"Say goodbye to them. You're coming home with me."  
  
"Draco..."  
  
"I warned you what would happen if we were alone together."  
  
"We weren't..."  
  
"When you were in my arms they all disappeared. You know they did Ginny." His voice wasn't commanding, nor cajoling. It was more of a pleading.  
  
She took the long walk across the ballroom alone. But when she arrived amongst her friends, it was time to say goodbye.  



	29. One Night in the Name of Love

Authors Note: As always, most everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. On a side note, to discuss this story, please visit my brand new e-group, http://groups.yahoo.com/group/WAiSaD This is the new address, people were having trouble joining it earlier, but the trouble should be all fixed now. Join me!  
  
  
  
  
She'd told her friends that she was going to discuss the terms of Draco's agreement to surrender dark arts paraphernalia with him. They'd all looked worried, except for Glin, who'd whispered "have fun" in her ear before pushing her back towards him. In Glin's defense, however, she hadn't been a party to most of the Draco related issues, and therefore was unable to see him in such shady lighting as the others did. Lupin had taken Minnie home earlier to show her a text about transfiguration from the late eighth century he'd uncovered during his travels. There weren't anymore excuses to stay away from him, yet there was a tiny voice in her head, telling her to get away while she had the chance.  
  
She walked slowly towards him, her feet sluggish and unwilling. She would have blamed it on the butter beer, but she hadn't had all that much. He was standing there in the middle of the room, making no mistake of the fact that he was waiting for her. It felt like hours before she finally reached him. He folded her into her arms, and they apparated home.  
  
  
  
  
They were on the sofa, and Ron was kissing her. It wasn't really what she'd thought it'd be like. He wasn't actually as repulsive as a dead trout either, not that she thought about it. He wasn't entirely unattractive, if you liked that tall, skinny, good-looking playboy type, if you liked that sort of thing. She most certainly didn't like that sort of thing. Wait, did she like that sort of thing? Regardless, liking that sort of thing was irrelevant. She didn't date other people's boyfriends and... what in the hell was he doing? Better yet, what in the hell was she doing?  
  
"Ron." She pushed at him, trying to dislodge him from the shoulder he'd just uncovered.  
  
"Hmm?" He looked up at her, eyes all innocent, as if he hadn't taken... why was she laying on top of him?  
  
"Stop. I've got to think for a minute." She collapsed on top of him in a way she assured herself absolutely reeked of platonic friendship. "I'm not the kind of girl who does this sort of thing," she explained, gesticulating wildly even though she kept almost hitting him in the face. "I mean, you're not even really my type."  
  
"What type is that?" He asked wearily, pushing them both into a sitting position.  
  
"Well I usually date men who I at least get along with. They either have a job or do something terribly exciting. They're usually named something terribly exotic, like Fabio or Armand or Jean-Paul. I mean, think about the very name Ronald. It's not only terribly boring, it suggests boring to the very degree of weird. They dress well, or at the very least dress interestingly. They're usually quite dynamic, and very well read. Ron, you are none of these things. Additionally, you're just out of a relationship, and I don't do rebound guys. I mean date them. Well, I guess I do neither. Or is it don't do both? I'm so confused!" She wailed and buried her head in his shoulder.  
  
"Well, first off, I'm not just getting out of a serious relationship. I was just getting out of a serious relationship a month ago when I asked her to marry me or leave me. I knew she wasn't going to say yes, I just needed to make changes, and I thought that maybe that would help. It didn't, and the whole relationship was absolutely ridiculous in the first place. How can you be in a relationship with someone who won't let you look at them unless they've made sure their appearance is absolutely perfect? You can't. It wasn't going anywhere, it was just something to do. Besides, there wasn't any chemistry there. She was just a pretty thing to hand on my arm until I found who I was really looking for."  
  
She threw her hands up into the air, somehow managing to accidentally clipping him on the back of the head. "Fantastic. I've taken up with a man who wants a trophy girlfriend."  
  
"If you didn't want to have sex with me, then what was with the pathetic 'I can't recall my apartment number, let's have a sleepover at your place?'" He said the last bit with an over-emphasized American accent, while batting his eyelashes.  
  
He probably should have seen the slap across the face coming. "I said apartment, not flat, that proves I was drunk off my ass. You were going to take advantage of a poor inebriated girl."  
  
"Take advantage? Poor inebriated girl?" He scoffed. "You've been around the block more times than my fathers flying Ford!"  
  
"Are you actually completely over Fleur?"  
  
"Yes!" He roared.  
  
"Oh," she said quietly before shouting "102 Green Pine, number four!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"My flat number!" She shouted back at him before pouncing on him and systematically removing all of his clothing.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They'd gone straight for his bedroom. There was no talk of love, no whispered words of uncertainty, no angst-ridden monologues detailing why this was exactly the wrong thing to be doing. For once, there were no owls at the window, no screams in the night. There was nothing to blame it on, not liquor, not illness, not lack of sleep.  
  
There was passion. Passion when he took her mouth with his. Passion when his tongue touched hers and her hands grabbed at his neck to keep her knees from buckling beneath her. Passion, like an explosion behind Ginny's eyes, like the ocean beating at rocks on the shore, then crashing back to the sea.  
  
There was possession. Possession in her unquenched need to be better, more worthy of his love than any of his other lovers, real or imagined. Possession in his kiss, upon every inch of her skin, his need to brand her flesh with his flesh, to make her really and truly his. Possession as their heartbeats raced out of control, but beat in perfect synchronicity with each other.  
  
There was need. Need in her eyes as they locked on his, searching for a mirror of her own soul. Need in his heart to make this last forever. Need in their hunger to be so close that nothing on earth could distinguish between the two of them, and nothing in heaven could take them apart. Need like the need to breath, to live, to die.  
  
There was tenderness. Tenderness as he kissed the corners of her eyes, as he called out her name in a hoarse, husky whisper. Tenderness as he cherished her in every way humanly possible. Tenderness that made her weep with the sheer volumes it spoke about him.  
  
And finally, there was relief. Sheer glorious relief that came with the fulfillment of their desires so long denied. Relief in the ending of the great insufferable rift that had hung between them. They collapsed in a sweaty tangled heap.  
  
  
  
Glin lay naked with her head smushed flat into Ron's chest. She was out of breath, almost panting, and perspiring like a madwoman. Her eyes kept blurring in and out of focus, and for some reason she couldn't quite fathom, there was a rubber arrow stuck to her rear. She tilted her head to look up at Ron. "Have we gone completely insane?"  
  
He chuckled. "It would explain the arrow."  
  
"I mean this is..."  
  
"Incredibly satisfying," he finished.  
  
"I was going to say 'highly irregular,' or possibly even 'the product of a parallel universe, which has merged with ours, creating a rift in some space time continuum.'" She said pointedly. "I mean, for fuck's sake, everything is going to be all awkward now."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because we had sex, and we can't even stand each other. Ron, we've taken a relationship we don't even have to the proverbial 'next level.' And quite frankly, I think a great majority of the world agrees with me when I say that is fucked up on so many levels, I can't even fathom how truly fucked up it is."  
  
"Actually, we have sex, not had sex," he corrected her as he beeped her on the nose affectionately. "And I can more than stand you."  
  
"Don't do that! Don't... beep my nose! We don't do that Ron! We make rude, petty comments about each other, and bicker uncontrollably! We don't do cute little affectionate gestures like nose beeping! And you cannot stand me!" She ranted in exasperation. "And rest assured, we don't 'have' sex, because we are not having it again.  
  
"I beg to differ. I actually find some of your little quirks quite endearing," he said, beeping her nose again.  
  
"Like what, and you'll stop that if you don't want to pull back a bloody stump."  
  
"Well there's the way you call things by the wrong name when you're preoccupied, like when you ordered a tea and a cookie instead of a biscuit at that cafe a few days ago... and I like the way you get all nattered up at people, like you did with Fleur, only it's much cuter when you're nattered up at me about something silly like nose beeping. And I absolutely adore the little sound you make when I nibble at the inside of your elbow."  
  
"You can't base a relationship on sex and unwelcome nose beeping, Ron."  
  
"So fuck the relationship. Let's just shag, and nose beep and occasionally be around each other when we can stand it."  
  
"For some reason, that makes perfect sense. Let's not tell other people though. It might make their heads explode. I'm taking a shower now." She hopped off of him, perfectly content with the resolution and now talking about a completely different subject. Ron found this to be extremely weird, but not without it's appeal.  
  
"Fine, I'll just get into bed then. It's only two or so, I suppose I could still get some sleep."  
  
"You're not going to take a shower with me?"  
  
"If we do that we'll just spend the whole time being dirty, and then the hot water will run out, and the water'll be all cold when we want to clean up afterwards..."  
  
"Ron, you silly sonofabitch, that's half the fun!"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco lay with his eyes open, Ginny curled on his chest, her eyelids drooping as she fell into sleep.  
  
"I love you," she murmured. His body tensed, and she turned her head to look up at him. His eyes had gone all glittery and hurtful again. She leaned up and kissed him tenderly, until they went all soft shimmery silver again. She put her hand to his mouth. "I know you won't say it back. I'm honestly not sure you'll ever say it to anyone but Marigold. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you make anything about this dirty. Because it's not, and we both know it." She settled her head back onto his chest and fell asleep to rhythm of his hand stroking her hair.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When Draco woke, his bed was empty.  



	30. The Morning After

Authors note: I'm surprised you all were so worried about that cliff hanger. I'm not going to be that mean... for awhile.  
  
  
  
  
Draco sat bolt upright. What if she'd been kidnapped? What if his nightmares had suddenly come to life and taken her away? At this very minute, she could be lying hurt and lost in the catacombs, with God-knows-what lurking about down there...  
  
Her dress was gone. An intruder wouldn't have taken her dress. It became terribly apparent that Ginny had not only left him, but had left him of her own accord.  
  
At first he was incensed. Then his anger dissipated. At least he wouldn't have to deal with any of her ridiculous notions about love and eternal happiness. She'd saved him the trouble of breaking the truth to her. He couldn't love, not in that way, not anymore.  
  
He pulled himself from the tangled bed clothes and rooted around the room for his pajamas. He found them without too much trouble. Lurking beneath a night side table were a pair of soft, gray cotton pajama pants. Since the matching shirt wasn't readily available, he just pulled on the pants and ambled down the kitchen to make Marigold's breakfast.  
  
He decided to make something special. Something more difficult than a bowl of cereal. He settled on French toast, and spent an hour preparing breakfast without magic. Even though he was no longer in hiding, he still liked to do things the muggle way. It kept him on his toes, and it ate up time. He found himself doing unnecessary and often ridiculous things just to fill the hours of the day. The unfortunate thing about making food the muggle way was that he always ended up throwing away around half of what he made. In all honesty, Betty Crocker was overly generous with her serving suggestions.  
  
Some flowers from the window-box in a small vase made the tray look... finished, somehow. Satisfied with his handiwork, he carried the tray to Marigold's room. The nanny had arranged to arrive late, citing a death in the family. Ginny had complicated things, and he was glad she'd left. He wouldn't want to bring her back into Marigold's life only to take her away.  
  
The gauzy, white bed curtains were still drawn about the bed, undisturbed. It wasn't terribly early, but it was reasonable to assume that Marigold had slept late. She often slept late, because of the nightmares. The realization hit him- he hadn't heard Marigold screaming last night. She'd either slept soundly or managed to get herself back to sleep. It was nice to think she was beginning to cope with them. Hopefully, this would become a trend, and their sleepless nights would come to an end.  
  
He placed the tray on a small table, and went to wake Marigold laugh. When he saw what lay beyond the curtains, he was fairly certain he would have dropped the tray if he'd still been holding it. It was dreadfully apparent that Ginny hadn't left him at all. He'd slept through Marigold's crying, and she'd gone to comfort the child.  
  
Marigold was sprawled out on top of Ginny, one little white hand clamped onto Ginny's face, the other wrapped loosely about a stuffed bear. The child twitched in her sleep, digging her small fingers deeper into Ginny's face. Draco flinched and gently began to pry Marigold's fingers loose. She began to toss and turn, clutching Ginny tighter and crying, "Mama, mama."  
  
Draco released her and the child's eyes fluttered open. "Papa? I dreamt that Aunt Ginny was here, and then she was!" She smiled and threw her arms about Ginny's still sleeping form. "Good morning, Aunt Ginny!"  
  
Ginny rubbed one bleary eye. "G'morning, Sweetheart."  
  
"Are you talking to my, or to Papa?"  
  
Ginny yawned mightily. "Both, I guess. G'morning Sweethearts."  
  
They were both looking up at him expectantly, and Draco couldn't help but give into the pull of domesticity. "Good morning, Dearests."  
  
"You can't have two dearests, father."  
  
"She's right," Ginny said in another yawn. "Dearest is superlative."  
  
"Which means there can only be one," Marigold added.  
  
"I should never have given you that dictionary for your birthday," Draco sighed theatrically. "Everybody up now. I've made French toast, and way too much of it at that."  
  
They tumbled out of bed, and sat down at Marigold's small table. Ginny looked at the tray rather pointedly. "You only brought two plates."  
  
"I wasn't aware you'd be dining with us."  
  
"Why wouldn't she eat with us?" Marigold asked, baffled.  
  
He was going to calmly explain that he thought she might be having brunch with her family, but Ginny cut him off. "Because he thought I'd left in the middle of the night like some common..." Ginny eyed her present company. "Well, like something very unpleasant anyway. He obviously didn't notice my gown sitting on the armchair, and he obviously thinks very little of my character and has now been proven wrong."  
  
"That's not very nice," Marigold observed. "I think you'd better apologize to her."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry. We can share the plate, Gin. It's not like I have the plague."  
  
Ginny scooted her chair up next to his, and her legs tangled companionably with his. She was wearing his pajama shirt, and he was slightly disturbed by the odd surge of masculinity that went through him at the sight of her wearing his clothing. His daughter was chattering away endlessly about slumber parties and nail polish as Ginny cut Marigold's breakfast into little pieces.  
  
Ginny set to work on the remaining plate, finishing by spearing a bite with the fork and pushing it towards Draco. He reflexively opened his mouth, letting Ginny feed him. It startled him, his unconscious acquiescence, but he said nothing. For this one single moment, all of the little pieces of his world just seemed to click.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ron woke up to the disturbing sensation of being watched. Also disturbing was the fact that he seemed to be laying naked on the alarmingly small balcony. The balcony with the weak railing, to be precise. "Glin?"  
  
"Hmm," she responded, her face buried in his chest.  
  
"How exactly did we get here?"  
  
"I kept bumping my head on the piano bench," she replied reasonably. At his questioning look, she shrugged. "We got up for a snack, and...well I guess 'got up' is an apt choice of words. Anyway, I don't really recall much after the piano. I think I might have blacked out."  
  
"Is that normal?"  
  
"Not really normal, but definitely not a bad thing," she assured him before changing the subject rather abruptly. "Who lives across the street from you?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Well I think if one of my neighbors had a telescope, I'd like to know who," she said reasonably.  
  
"Elderly woman, blue hair?"  
  
"And a big ole grin."  
  
He covered his face with his hands. "Mrs. Murphy."  
  
Glin began to wave. "Good morning, Mrs. Murphy!" The old witch smiled and waved from behind her telescope as Ron pulled Glin into the apartment.  
  
"We're sick, you know that? Really bloody sick." He pulled on a pair of pants. "Put on some knickers, she might still be able to see you."  
  
"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the railing this morning."  
  
"What?"  
  
"A. Stop being so cranky. There isn't a thing we can do about Mrs. Murphy, and I doubt she's going to tell anyone but her thousand cats about our little encounter. B. Were you supposed to have brunch with Harry and Herm today?"  
  
"How'd you know?"  
  
"They invited me, too. It's not like they were going to tell you I was invited. We supposedly hate each other. Now take those pants off!"   
  
"You've gotten rather bossy. I think I like it." He eyed her lasciviously. "We have time for a quickie, I presume?"  
  
"If it's in the shower. You've got pigeon poo in your hair."  



	31. Breakfast Epiphanies

Authors note: Stuff belongs to J.K. Rowling. Props to my reviewers (200+ hugs all around) and to Bear, who took me for Persian today, not that it influenced the story in anyway... Sorry 'bout the delay on this, hope it's length makes up for that, in part. GO JOIN THE E-GROUP! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/WAiSaD  
  
  
  
"Would you like to order, sir?"  
  
Harry looked over at Hermione who was calmly sipping her herbal tea. "Maybe-"  
  
"Maybe that question should have been directed towards me," Hermione pointedly told the waiter. "Which part of 'waiting for the rest of our party," don't you understand, Tim?"  
  
"My name is Jim..."  
  
"Perhaps she prefers Tim," McGonagall said. "And why, exactly, Tim, am I seeing the bottom of my 'bottomless saucer of milk?'" The waiter shifted nervously. "Perhaps you were to busy to enchant it? Well, I can assure you I'm never too busy to take this sort of thing up with the management."  
  
The red-faced man scurried off with the saucer, presumably to find another whose charm was in working order. The cat turned about in circles a few times before folding her paws onto the table. "James Brody, Class of ought-two. Once tried to pass off a button as a transfigured knut on an exam. If I recall correctly, his charming was even worse."  
  
"I wonder why we don't do this more often," Harry said dryly.  
  
"Because the two of you usually feel comfortable asking Ginny about her personal life," the cat observed. "Unfortunately for you. I'm not going to say anything."  
  
"You could have told us that before we offered to buy brunch," Harry grumbled.  
  
"But that would have defeated the purpose of free brunch entirely. Here comes Ron."  
  
"'lo." Ron dropped into a chair looking winded. The top button of his robes was undone. A lock of wet hair was falling into his eyes, and it appeared as if he hadn't used a razor. "Glin isn't here yet?"  
  
"No, she's late, too," Hermione said, eyeing him cautiously. "We could have waited a few minutes, Ron."  
  
"Nah, no reason for it."  
  
Seconds later, Glin sauntered coolly over to the table. "Sorry about the delay. Carlos came over this morning, sobbing over his latest breakup. I got him to do my highlights and take a bit off the top, so it was probably worth it." She ruffled her short silky hair, which now sported mauve highlights. Presumably, the highlights were to accent her current ensemble, a set of mauve robes loosely crocheted. As per her usual derring-do, it appeared she was wearing nothing underneath. Complementing the outfit were mauve ballet slippers, their ribbons braided up Glin's legs to her upper thighs, where the robes ended. Overall, the effort was rather whimsical, if not entirely decent.  
  
Achieving the near impossible, Ron was looking daggers at her and simultaneously being smug. "'A bit off the top?" That's a euphemism, isn't it? Doesn't matter. Your diddling about with Carl made you late, and I was ready first. I win," He concluded triumphantly.  
  
Hermione, Harry and McGonagall looked at Ron in surprise. Glin rolled her eyes and looked annoyed. "I hardly call wet hair and an unshaven chin 'ready,' Ron. But if you like, I'll admit that you arrived here first. And Carlos is my hair-warlock, so stop blathering on like an idiot.  
  
The remainder of breakfast was spent listening to Ron be much more petty than usual towards Glin. For her part, Glin treated Ron with the same indifference she always had. This seemed only to infuriate Ron more, and by the time the check arrived, bets were being placed on who would storm out in a huff.  
  
It was Ron. In all actuality, it was always Ron.  
  
He threw a few galleons on the table and stalked out the door. Quite frankly, he'd been more than a little put off by Glin's behavior. She'd seduced him, and now she was acting as if nothing had happened at all. Well, two could play at that game. He'd just pretend he hadn't noticed her hemline or the open weave of her robes... or Carl.  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco was still lost in the blur of familial bliss Ginny had brought with her. She was playing house with Marigold in the corner as he finished his coffee. Marigold was putting one of her dolls to bed and explaining to Ginny proper bedtime routine.  
  
"You'll see it again when I put her to bed for real tonight, Aunt Ginny. Then we can have another slumber party."  
  
"Maybe you can show me another time," Ginny hedged.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Well, I'll have to stay at my own flat tonight. I've got to work tomorrow."  
  
"But why can't you stay? You've got to keep the monsters away!" Marigold's voice rose to a wail.  
  
Ginny looked at Draco helplessly. "Your father will be here, can't he make them go away? Perhaps the two of you could-"  
  
"Only you," the little girl said through tears as she latched her arms around Ginny's neck.  
  
Ginny rubber Marigold's back, comforting her as best she could. Draco was kneeling beside them now, his hand on Ginny's shoulder. Marigold began to sniffle and her tears began to dissipate. Draco extricated her from Ginny's arms and carried her to the bed.  
  
"Why don't you take a little nap while I talk with Aunt Ginny." Draco suggested. The tired child buried her face in the pillows as Draco led Ginny into the hall. Once they were out of Marigold's hearing range, he began to chastise her. "What exactly did you mean by that?"  
  
"Well, I can't very well stay here every night, can I? People would find out and..."  
  
"And you don't want to be linked to a man like me, is that it?"  
  
"Let's be realistic here. Regardless of who you are, it doesn't look very good for the Minister of Magic to be diddling about with someone who I've never even dated. Think what my mum would say!"  
  
"Did you really need to send Marigold into hysterics over it?"  
  
"How in the bloody hell was I to expect she'd do that? You won't tell me what's wrong with her!"  
  
"Nothing is wrong with her," he retorted fiercely.  
  
"Well something's wrong. Either with her or with you. I can't be reasonably expected to pussyfoot around the issue any longer."  
  
"You're what's wrong," he raged. "You waltz in here and you change everything-"  
  
"Oh save it," she cut him off. "You've been saying from the beginning that it was just sex."  
  
"So it's all right for you to say it, but when I say it I'm an insensitive bastard?"  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Really Draco, are you being deliberately daft? I'm not saying it wasn't fantastic or that I don't care for you. I'm just saying that the two of us making love doesn't change the whole world. Sex isn't some fairytale panacea to be thrown about whenever someone has a toothache or Armageddon threatens. Yes, I'd like to have more than just sex with you. I want to wake up in your arms every morning and eat French toast with your daughter, and grow old with you, but it can't happen in one night!" Ginny was screaming, and tears were streaming down her face. "Now for fuck's sake, tell me what's wrong!  
  
"You can't help with it, Ginny."  
  
"That doesn't mean I can't know about it, that it has to be held over my head constantly like the sword of Damocles. What on earth can I do to make you trust me?"  
  
She was crying full force, and Draco's resistance crumbled. "Fine. We'll discuss if over dinner. Then you can tuck Marigold in and return to your flat."  
  
"I need to pick up a few things from home, change my clothes and what not," she told him. "I'll be back for dinner."  
  
"Six-thirty. Don't be late, Virginia. I'm already having second thoughts and waiting around isn't going to help things."  
  
  
  
  
  
Stomping up the stairs to his loft, Ron felt his heart give an irregular beat. Perhaps it was something fatal. Glumly, he admitted to himself that it was nothing more than over-exertion. He was getting old. He'd walked all the way from the cafe, hoping to blow off some steam.  
  
It hadn't worked. He'd spent the walk thinking of inventive ways for Glin to be killed. It worked fairly well for awhile, until Glin had been eaten by a dragon. Unfortunately, that particular fantasy had morphed into him saving Glin from the dragon. Future daydreams played out in much the same fashion. Princess Glin had to be saved from an evil count. A green-hued Glin needed only one kiss to restore her beauty. Glin, almost dying from a monkey disease until his love cured her. Then he'd gotten angry at himself, and punched a wall, resulting in a rather unpleasant set of scrapes. With a scowl, he flung open the door to his flat.  
  
Glin was lounging on one of his armchairs, her long legs hitched over one arm while her head rested on the other. "I thought we were going to pretend nothing had happened."  
  
"How could I when you were nattering on about 'Carl this' and 'Carl that.' Just because we aren't having anything but sex doesn't mean I want you diddling about with some Carl."  
  
Glin rolled her eyes and removed herself from the chair. She kept walking towards him until he was pushed up against the wall. She then took to poking him with one perfectly manicured mauve nail. "His name is Carlos, and if you want me to stop seeing him you'd better do something about it."  
  
"Maybe I will," Ron retorted as he captured her mouth in a fiery kiss.  
  
  
An hour later, Ron rolled off her. They were on top of the piano, and a vase he assumed was very expensive was lying on his carpet in pieces. "So, have you forgotten Carl?"  
  
"Carlos," she said in a sing-song voice. "And he's a hair-warlock. Not to perpetuate the stereotype, but he's gay."  
  
"What?"   
  
"Homosexual. A pouf, as you British might say. Enjoys the company of other men... Any of this ringing a bell?"  
  
"Then why not just say that in the first place?"  
  
"Why would I? It's not something that comes up in normal conversation. 'I got my highlights done by Carlos, who incidentally, is gay as the day is long.' Besides, seeing you get all animalistic wasn't exactly a bad thing. Besides, I'll have to date someone eventually. I can't show up to every social event with my arm noticeably empty."  
  
"You'd better get someone very ugly then."  
  
"That'd be a blow to my own social status. But I don't have to sleep with them. It's not like I sleep with anyone to whom I'm mildly attracted. Besides, I wouldn't have sex with one of them when I'm having a sex thing with you. I'm not that kind of girl."  
  
"So, I'm you're number one?"  
  
Glin rolled over on top of him. "I prefer the term 'alpha male.'" She bit his lower lip. "And yes, you are."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Knocking cautiously, Harry and Hermione waited from some sign of life withing Ginny's flat. After a good five minutes of the incessant knocking, Ginny let them in.  
  
"'Orry," she said through a mouth of toothpaste foam.  
  
"No problem. Only stopped by to drop of Minnie," Hermione told her.  
  
"And to see if you'd returned from the manor," McGonagall provided dryly. "Really, their excuses are flimsy as cheese cloth."  
  
Ginny blushed but offered no explanation. "Tea? Coffee?"  
  
"Cup of peppermint for both of us," Hermione requested. "We're trying to control our caffeine intake."  
  
"Right." Ginny stepped into the kitchen, where a note taped to the cupboard read "taken McGonagall to brunch, H&H." "How was brunch, then?"  
  
"The food was barely tolerable, the company even less so," the cat replied.  
  
"She's right. The yolks on my eggs were hard, and Ron was acting peculiar," Harry said.  
  
"How so?" Asked Ginny, who was really only mildly interested in her brothers mood.  
  
"Well, he wasn't catty to Glin, he was openly hostile," Hermione observed. "The dynamics between the two of them were off somehow. Perhaps something happened the other night."  
  
"They shagged," McGonagall said in conclusion.  
  
"You say that about everyone, Minnie," Ginny discredited the cat.  
  
"Yes, but the odds are I'll eventually be right."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny stepped through the fireplace, and into Draco's study. Due to indecisiveness about what to wear, she'd very nearly been late. Simple brown robes which were neither too dressy, nor to casual had eventually been decided up.  
  
A small table and two chairs had been set up in the study. Presumably at which they would be eating dinner. Draco was setting two plates of food in front of the chairs, next to wineglasses and a bottle of Chablis.  
  
"What're we having?"  
  
"Jujeh Korescht on saffron rice," he told her. "It's persian." He proceeded to make small adjustments to the table until she pulled him down onto the couch.  
  
"I know you're nervous," she said quietly as she looked into his eyes. "Just tell me now, and we'll eat later."  
  
He nodded and began.  
  
"I was a Death Eater, or very near being one, anyway. I hadn't been marked yet. I kept avoiding it. I'd like to say it was because I knew I was doing something wrong, but it wasn't. I didn't like the idea of unnecessary pain, at least not where I was involved. I tortured muggles and intimidated people and I didn't really see anything wrong with it at all."  
  
"But you've changed," Ginny insisted.  
  
"I'm not through yet, Gin. Marigold was born. My father was disappointed that she wasn't a boy, a suitable heir. I ignored him. Marigold was so tiny and perfect and I absolutely adored her. I did all of the things a new father does. I bought here presents, I spent hours just watching her sleep. Two years passed and my family grew impatient. I was spending less time with the Death Eaters, spending less time with Pansy. I still hadn't pledged allegiance to the Dark Lord. To top it all off, Marigold had shown absolutely no signs of being a magical child. There were no floating objects, no unexplained phenomenon when she became fussy. Nothing."  
  
"Some children are late bloomers," Ginny interjected.  
  
"Father had another one of his parties. My dinner disagreed with me and I retired to my room for awhile. I awoke to Marigold's crying. It was so loud it rang through the whole house. I found them in the study. They were drunk, as they'd been when they'd killed the first batch of house elves. Marigold was on the floor, writhing in pain and they were chanting 'squib' at her as they took turns using the Cruciatus Curse on her. I stupefied some of them, the others were done with their fun anyway. We escaped, but when I tried to heal some of the minor injuries, she screamed. She screamed over and over until I put the wand away. The mere sight of a wand sent her into hysterics. I took her to a muggle hospital, and they told me she'd probably die within the night. They said the majority of her bones were broken, and there was extensive liver and kidney damage. She didn't die, just held on by a thread for months. The Death Eaters began to search the muggle world for the two of us, and it became imperative I find some way to keep us hidden, while in plain sight. I searched spell books for weeks until an anonymous letter suggested a Secret-Keeper. The only problem was I had no one to trust. Neville was the last person they would have expected. I'd tormented him through Hogwarts. I thought he might understand because of his parents. After seeing Marigold, he agreed." His cheeks were wet with tears. "Sometimes I dream about it. I see her little body splayed on the rug, her limbs bent at unnatural angles, purple bruises mottling her pale skin. I hear her screams. When she wakes up from her nightmares her eyes are black for a few moments and I know she's seeing it, too." He was staring into the fireplace, turned away from her. "And I dream of Neville, dying for two people who weren't even really living anymore."  
  
Silence enveloped the room. Ginny didn't know what to say, or what to do. What exactly is the protocol for responding to a story like that. Draco was crying full throttle now, little sobs moving his stiff form. Placing her hands on either side of his face, she forced him to look at her. "You did more than anyone could have expected you to. You're a good father." She wrapped her arms about him and let here own tears come. She whispered in his ear, "you're very much alive to me."   
  
  
  
  
When they were both cried out, they attempted to eat dinner. Neither of them had much of an appetite, and it was getting late, so they climbed the stairs and wandered down the hallway to Marigold's room. A plump brunette was folding back the bedclothes.  
  
"We'll take it from here, Amelia." The plump woman beat a hasty retreat, and Marigold looked up from the corner where she was putting her dolls to bed. "Are you staying, Aunt Ginny?"  
  
"I'm afraid I can't." Ginny told her before quickly adding, "But I've brought along a very dear friend to stay with you." She reached into the satchel she'd brought along and pulled out a well worn stuffed animal. "His name is Warren, and he's very shy, so you'll have to introduce yourself."  
  
"Will he keep the nightmares away?" The child asked skeptically.  
  
"He's very good at that. He's a raccoon, so he can see in the dark, too. After I have a nightmare, I just cuddle Warren a bit and it makes me feel better."  
  
"I guess I could try," Marigold said grudgingly as she climbed into bed.  
  
Ginny kissed the child and the raccoon on the nose. "G'night Marigold. Take care of her Warren."  
  
As they left, Ginny could hear the little girl chattering happily to the stuffed animal.  
  
Draco led her back to the study's fireplace. "I guess this is goodbye."  
  
Ginny smiled softly. "Not goodbye, just goodnight. Come for dinner on Wednesday."  
  
"I'll ask Amelia to stay late. Drop by if you're feeling lonely between now and Wednesday."  
  
"And why, exactly, would I do that, Draco?" Ginny teased.  
  
"Because I think I'm falling in love with you, Virginia," he replied before kissing her. Somehow, he had a way of kissing her that could make her incredibly drowsy, but more alive than ever.  



	32. Dinner Belle

Author's note: Not much to say at the moment, other than to thank Elspeth for converting the files to html. If you haven't already, go join the When All is Said and Done group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/WAiSaD If you'd like the recipe for zabaglione, you've only to ask...  
  
  
  
Hands came down on her shoulders, and Hermione sighed. She'd been pouring over a pile of parchments that had been sitting in her inbox. It appeared that in order to get time off for a June wedding, she'd have to do more than her fair share of the work. Hundreds of reports were coming in reporting suspected Death Eaters. It was like the witch hunts they'd read about in school. Little old ladies were turning their neighbors in for reasons such as "gardens too much," "didn't care for my scones," and her personal favorite: "seems a bit swishy." Ministry policy dictated that every report be investigated. As one of the more senior aurors, it was her job to sort the reports, assigning those she deemed harmless to the rookies and those she found suspicious to those higher up in the agency. If filling out paperwork were all she had to do, it probably wouldn't have been such an arduous task. Unfortunately, she was doing the paperwork while closing her own cases.  
  
The case in front of her wasn't typical, but it didn't worry her over much either. The suspect, Devon Quince, wasn't a new one. Twelve complaints had been filed against Mr. Quince in the last two weeks alone. Due to the fact that the complainants were all single women roughly the same age as Quince, and they were all of the "is unfriendly," and "keeps to himself" variety, she suspected it wasn't much more than a neighborhood full of slighted women. It had happened more than once. She'd send a copy to the hags in the filing department, who would alphabetize them by the name of the wizard in question. Cases deemed highly suspicious were copied once more, and sent to the office of the Minister.  
  
"Stop and have dinner," Harry suggested.  
  
"Do shut up," Hermione barked. Harry dropped his hands and made for the door. "Wait, I'm sorry, I'm acting shrewish."  
  
"You're under a great deal of pressure," Harry corrected.  
  
"No, I'm being a shrew. I've spent the last month worrying about Ginny and Ron and work and the wedding, worrying about everything in the world except for you. That's the last thing I want to do."  
  
"I understand-"  
  
"But I don't want you to understand. I want you to be angry. I want you to yell and scream at me and do anything to make me put you first. The only thing you need to understand is that I'm the luckiest creature in the galaxy, because not only am I marrying the great Harry Potter, but I really and truly love him, too."  
  
"Then let's get take-away curry. We'll rent one of those sappy movies you're so fond of and I'll attempt to pass the time by making the moves on you."  
  
"Amhed's and 'the Princess Bride?'" She asked hopefully.  
  
"Sounds delightful."  
  
  
  
  
  
"So, did you... erm... 'service his broomstick' as it were?"  
  
"Minnie, that's vulgar," Ginny scolded her as she watched the dishes do themselves.  
  
"You did, didn't you? Somehow I thought you'd hold out a bit longer." McGonagall did a figure-eight around Ginny's legs. "May I have a treat?"  
  
"No, you've been crude, and I'm trying to discourage that kind of behavior. Curiosity did kill the cat, Min."  
  
"Fine. Then I'm not telling you what we talked about at brunch."  
  
"I'm not interested."  
  
"Your brother being incessantly surly is involved..." McGonagall said in what she hoped was an enticing manner.  
  
"You've already told me that. I imagine you yelled at the waiter, speculated about my sex life, and generally were as bothersome as you're being now."  
  
"Damn you!" The cat yelled. "How exactly am I supposed to live vicariously through someone as tight-lipped as you?"  
  
"Sod off," Ginny told her in a cheery, sing-song manner before dropping a handful of kibble into the cat dish.  
  
"All I'm saying is that sooner or later I'm going to find out. If you tell me now, I promise not to be evil and vindictive later," the feline cajoled. "I'm sure you're dying for someone to tell all about it."  
  
"You're probably right. I'll have to owl Glin."  
  
"You're sick, Virginia, really and truly sick."  
  
Ginny's smile grew. "I know."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Urg. What time is it?"  
  
"Seven at night," Glin smiled. "What day is it?"  
  
"Wednesday. Don't act all smug about it. We're going to kill each other if we keep this up."  
  
Glin sat bolt upright. "Shit. I've got to get going."  
  
"The threat of death isn't that imminent, Glin," he said as he pushed her back down. "I'm sure we're safe as long as we take water breaks and-"  
  
"Not that," she said, pushing him away. "I'm s'posed to put in an appearance at the Electric Voodoo Draperies show."  
  
"Friend of the band?"  
  
"According to the media, I am. Off the record, I can't stand the little bastards. They're being lauded as original for playing music that was cutting edge with muggles 20 years ago. Like no wizard has ever head of Bowie."  
  
"Why're you going then?"  
  
"I know the owner, this shady guy named Mark-"  
  
"A shady guy named Mark? Isn't that a rather odd name for a shady fellow?"  
  
"Well, no one names their kid anticipating them becoming shady, Ron. Anyway, Mark always makes sure to sneak me out when things get rough."  
  
"A charming man, really," Ron said sarcastically.  
  
"He also doesn't charge me or my guests." Ron raised an eyebrow. "What? I'm good publicity. And Mark and I used to date."  
  
"I'm going."  
  
"It's a bit early to be doing the jealous boyfriend thing, Ron," she said pointedly. He opened his mouth and she cut him off. "I can see it's pointless to argue about this with you. It's a dance club, so we'll want to muggle up. Let's hit my apartment, I've got some clothes you can borrow." At Ron's frightened glance, she added," Not drag, Ron. Friends have left stuff over tons of times."  
  
"Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better," he said as she pulled him through the fireplace.  
  
Glin's flat was well-furnished, and not entirely unlike his, except for the bit of feminine flair she'd added. It had a better view, too, he noticed with a wince. Glin pulled him into the bedroom, and began tossing clothes onto the bed and barking orders at him.  
  
"Try to tuck as much of your hair as you can into that bowler hat," she dictated. "If you really want to keep us a secret, it wont do for us to be seen together. We'll make up something about becoming friends or something if we have to, but it's best to avoid the situation all together. Now, pull those leather pants on, then throw the purple silk shirt on."  
  
Glin turned her attention to her own ensemble, selecting an exceedingly short leatherette skirt, and a sheer flowered silk blouse. High-heeled red sandals finished the look. "Ready, Ron?"  
  
Ron looked at her helplessly. "I don't think they fit."  
  
"They'll fit. You're wearing them backwards."  
  
"Damn leather trousers."  
  
  
  
  
  
Hermione snuggled closer to Harry. "I love this movie. Cary Elwes is so dreamy."  
  
"Dreamier than me?"  
  
"No one's dreamier than you, darling." She kissed him on the cheek. "So when are you going to put the moves on me?"  
  
"I am putting the moves on you. I'm just being subtle about it. You'll notice my arm is draped across your shoulders..."  
  
"Don't suppose you could speed things up a bit?"  
  
"And miss the end of the movie?" He scoffed.  
  
"I already know how it ends," she told him as she pulled him down on top of her.  
  
"Really?" He kissed the palm of her hand.  
  
"Mhmm... We live happily ever after."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny spent the next few days doing what was, in McGonagall's opinion, an inordinate amount of time cleaning. For her part, Minnie had run rapidly from room to room with no apparent reason, nervously licking her back all the while. "Must you move everything?"  
  
"It's ridiculous that we've lived in this mess for so long. It's a wonder I ever have clean clothes."  
  
"It's perfectly fine. Or it was, until you moved everything," the cat sulked.  
  
"Be quiet, or I'll send you to Ron's tonight," Ginny said crossly.  
  
"Why don't I just stay here," the cat suggested hopefully.  
  
"Because I'm having company."  
  
"None of your business." Ginny found herself smiling again. With the small exception of her exchanges with the cat, it seemed she was always finding herself smiling a big doofy grin.  
  
"Actually, if I am once again being horribly uprooted, it's my business."  
  
"Minnie, must you always be cantankerous?"  
  
"I'm a talking cat. What exactly do you expect me to be?" McGonagall asked her.  
  
"I don't honestly know. Hop in your carrier. Remus'll be by any minute now."  
  
  
  
  
Draco stepped through the fireplace, and surveyed the flat. It was much cleaner than it had been last time he'd been there, and was noticeably without cat. "Gin, you here?"  
  
Ginny walked into the living room, stirring a bowl with her wand. "You're early. I haven't had time to do my hair or set up the table or-"  
  
"Your hair looks fine, and I can conjure the table up in a moment. Put that bowl down and let me have a look at you."  
  
"I can't. I have to keep whisking it."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Zabaglione. It's an Italian custard made with wine," Ginny explained. He'd served Persian, so she'd figured she had better fix something classy.  
  
"Served with fresh berries. I know. What kind?" He honestly wasn't interested in what kind of berry. The air in the room was full of tension, and he knew that inane banter wasn't going to solve the problem. Unfortunately, he didn't think Ginny would be comfortable with him licking the custard off-  
  
"You'll see. It's a surprise." Ginny walked back into the kitchen, still whisking. "Make yourself at home. Pour yourself a drink, if you like."  
  
Draco conjured a table and chairs before sitting down on the sofa. Ginny was humming in the kitchen, and he took a moment to look about the room. The furniture was comfortably over-stuffed, though not exactly high-end. A hideously tacky afgan was thrown over the back of an armchair, probably something made by a grandmother or spinster aunt. Mismatched candlesticks decorated the mantle, along with pictures of family and friends.  
  
Plates began to float out from the kitchen, and Ginny wasn't far behind. "We're having meatloaf. I know it's not what you're used to, but I'm not exactly a chef," she apologized.  
  
"It smells wonderful," he reassured her.  
  
Dinner was awkward, with forced small talk and long bouts of uncomfortable silence. Draco cleared the table and Ginny brought out dessert. The zabaglione was poured over raspberries, blueberries and strawberries, as he had expected. He took a bite, savoring the sweet taste of wine, mixed with the tarter taste of the fruit. "It's wonderful."  
  
"Good. I was worried I'd ruined it," she admitted.  
  
"It's pretty fool proof, as long as you've got a good double boiler." They finished dessert in silence.  
  
"Well then..." Ginny prompted, wondering what exactly was supposed to happen now.  
  
"Oh, sod it." Draco magicked the table away and pulled her down onto the couch. "Why didn't you come by this week."  
  
"It's only been three days. I had to go to work and clean, and deal with McGonagall," she explained.  
  
"She ruined all of my shoes," he told her.  
  
"Oh no," Ginny said through a fit of giggles. "She did that to Ron once when I made her stay at his flat."  
  
"So you find this kind of behavior amusing?" He asked.  
  
"Sorry!" Ginny shrieked as she laughed so hard she fell off the sofa.   
  
"Stop that," he scolded her as he reached down to help her up. The only problem was that he began laughing, and she pulled him down with her. "You, Miss Weasley, are going to have to pay for that."  
  
"How?"  
  
He began rather methodically by kissing her neck. Her heart was beating fast, and he could feel the blood pumping through the artery beneath his lips. Her giggling ceased, and she began to run her hands up and down his back. Placing soft, slow kisses, he traveled up the column of her throat and met her lips. A moan escaped his throat as her tongue slipped under his. Surprising even himself, he pulled back.  
  
"We have to stop."  
  
"Why?" She tried to pull him back down to her.  
  
"Because, I have to go home sometime tonight, and I don't want to make love to you if I won't be able to hold you afterwards."  
  
"Then get off me before I attempt to seduce you," Ginny told him.  
  
"Would you?" He queried, before thinking better of it. "Don't answer that." He stood up. "I'd better go. It seems I have almost no self control when I'm around you."  
  
She kissed him lightly on the cheek, murmuring goodbye.  
  
"Before I go, I want to give you something. I know it's a little bit soon, but it caught my eye." He placed a strangely familiar velvet box in her hands.  
  
"How did you know?" Her eyes went wide.  
  
"I can't claim to be that brilliant on my own. Someone owled me a business card. Let me put it on you." He opened the box.  
  
"I can't accept-"  
  
"Yes you can. Money's only Money, Ginny. I have more of it than most, and can throw it about as I see fit. Now lift up your hair so it won't get caught in the clasp."  
  
Ginny acquiesced, and Draco slipped the thin chain about her neck. He couldn't resist placing a kiss on the nape of her neck before turning her around. "It looks as though it were made for you." Glin looked up at him, her eyes adoring. "Don't look at me like that, or I'll never leave."  
  
Her arms went about him. "I wish you wouldn't."  
  
"Me too. But I have to. Perhaps you could stay this weekend at the manor?"  
  
"I'll try to clear things from my schedule."  
  
He kissed her softly on the temple before stepping through the fireplace. "Goodbye, la belle de mon coeur."  



	33. The Watchers

Author's note: Sorry about the length of this chapter. I'll be off to school tomorrow, and probably won't have internet access for at least a week, so I thought it best to leave you with a bit to discuss. Lot's of new questions in this chapter, and I'll be interested to see what your take on them is. On an aside, a warm get well wish goes out to Tracy. Hope you feel better.  
  
  
  
A rather fierce man, aptly named Brutus, spotted Glin in the line outside of "Hex," the club Glin's pal Mark owned. "Hex" would more appropriately have been named "abandoned warehouse with a liquor license off the ill-kempt alleyway." Although, that probably was a bit lengthy for a sign comprised of graffiti, and he was entirely unsure about the legality of the whole business.  
  
"Oi!" Shouted the burly man with "mum" tattooed on his arm. "You gits make way. She's on the list."  
  
The crowd didn't move, but Glin still managed to edge her way to the front of the line, pulling Ron along behind her.  
  
"New toy, love?" Brutus asked as he unhooked the velvet rope barring their entrance.  
  
"A friend, Bru."  
  
"I'll keep an eye out then. The place is packed tonight."  
  
"Thanks." Glin pulled Ron over to a set of stairs where yet another bouncer waited. "Name," inquired the refrigerator of a man.  
  
"Leo, you know me. Don't be an ass."  
  
"Name?" The caveman responded threateningly.  
  
"Glin and guest," she told him as she sighed in exasperation.  
  
"Last name?"  
  
"My last name is 'don't make me tell Mark you've been harassing the celebrities, again.' It's on the list..." She feigned innocence.  
  
The giant's eyes darkened, but he let them pass without another word. As they walked up the stairs, Ron could feel the man watching them. Evidently, Glin sensed it, too, for she stopped and spun around rather abruptly.  
  
"Stop looking at his ass, Leo. He's straight."   
  
The mountain turned his back to them, and they proceeded to the upper level of the club.   
  
The remainder of the night was rather uneventful. They danced a fair bit, and Ron definitely began to see the merits of muggle clothing. Glin's outfit left very little to the imagination, and what he couldn't see was very plainly illustrated to him by the way she was dancing against him.  
  
When Glin went to say hello to the band, Ron sat down at a table with Brutus, who was evidently on a break. Thankfully, Brutus alerted him to the fact that the every flavor beans he'd almost eaten were not actually every flavor beans, but rather a muggle drug called "Quaaludes." Luckily, he'd been stopped before taking a handful, as Brutus explained that even one would have probably "righteously fucked" with Ron's head. Glin had allayed his tension over the Quaaludes by dancing with him very slowly, and then pulling him into a closet.  
  
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending upon which side of the closet one was on, Ron suspected that this would quickly become a "normal" evening for him.  
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny padded out of her bedroom, and poured herself a glass of orange juice. She was just scanning the headlines of "the Prophet," when she noticed Lavendar's front page column on the rumors about her and Draco. From "Minister's Affairs," it was only a hop, skip, and a jump to "Wizarding Weekly's" "Dark Wizard Frenzy: Minister Weasley gives go-ahead to Aurors." The only redeeming bit about the morning's news was that the wireless listed her approval rating as much higher than anticipated. A voice called out to her, and she walked into the living room.  
  
"Bill?" She asked in bewilderment. "Why's your head floating in my fireplace?"  
  
"Wanted to know if you'd like to go to dinner with me," he replied curtly.  
  
"I supposed that wouldn't be terrible. Pick me up at six from the Ministry?"  
  
"See you then."  
  
She supposed she should just chalk it up to a bit of familial nostalgia on her brother's part, but she couldn't help being suspicious. Her family only spoke to her when they wanted to know something, or they had something to tell her about. Bill had never been particularly big on either.  
  
  
  
"Le Studio," was delightfully French, and delightfully pretentious. Although, when you think about it, the two terms are almost completely interchangeable. While Ginny appreciated Bill's taste in dining, she was puzzled at his selection of conversation.  
  
It seemed Bill, who had always possessed "a way with the ladies," as he himself put it, was now completely heartbroken. A woman he had only just met had canceled a date with him.  
  
"But perhaps she really did have to apparate to Milan for a fitting," Ginny said hopefully.  
  
"No," Bill moped. "She just realized that a man my age-"  
  
"You're not even thirty!" Ginny scoffed.  
  
"A man my age," he continued, "has nothing to offer a beautiful model."  
  
"Bill, models haven't ever seen anything wrong with you before. You're only upset because you're not used to rejection."  
  
"See, 'rejection.' I've been rejected."  
  
"That's not what I meant, Bill. D'you want me to take it up with Glin and see what she thinks?"  
  
"No," he said in a pout.  
  
"All right then. What're you going to order."  
  
"The Pizza Marguerite," he said automatically.  
  
"Delightfully un-French, yet still pretentious," Ginny observed.  
  
"It's a gift."  
  
  
  
  
They watched as the Minister and her brother ate. They listened to the banter and catalogued what might prove important.  
  
"He's very handsome," said one thoughtfully.  
  
"He's irrelevant," the others responded coldly. "Only the minister matters."  
  
"You're right of courses. Shall we watch him, too?"  
  
"We will not. He's much more of a risk if he's observed, also."  
  
"Right. Shall we check in with the cat again?"  
  
Hands flew over a keyboard, and the Minister's flat showed on one of the many television screens. A large tabby was sitting on an overstuffed sofa, belting out the theme to "Perfect Strangers."  
  
One of them groaned in disgust.  
  
"At least she's not cleaning herself again," replied one of the others.  
  
A satisfied grin swept over their faces. The subjects were completely and totally clueless.  



	34. All Things Considered

Pansy stared out at the night sky from the balcony of Jet office, high above Knockturn Alley. The streets were littered with refuse, as rats scurried from corners. Diagon Alley was different. Shopkeepers performed charms to keep the mice and dirt away. Of course, mice and dirt had a way of getting past simple charms, but the streets there were relatively clean. Things were safer in Diagon Alley. Strategically placed lanterns kept things well lit, and there hadn't been any major crimes outside of pick-pocketing there for years. There weren't derelicts sleeping in corners, save an occasional happy-go-lucky bum. People weren't knifed on the corners.  
  
Pansy preferred Knockturn Alley, with the shopkeepers who were more than content to contend with rats and actually preferred to locate their business in dark corners. With Knockturn Alley, you could expect a spot of trouble if you didn't keep on top of things. Poor man or rich man, it didn't matter when you were down there. They'd soon as steal your life as steal your wallet. That was the thing that the Polly Perfects of Diagon didn't realize. Knockturn Alley wasn't about earning a profit. Knockturn Alley was about power. The power to take something that didn't belong to you, whether it was a cookie from a child or a coin from an unsuspecting blind beggar.  
  
Pansy's life had been a simple one. She'd had everything she'd ever wanted, save beauty. Her parents hadn't cared about her physical imperfections, but had assented to a competent glamour-specialist working a bit of magic on their only daughter. After a few hours, and a great deal of pain, Pansy Parkinson had been perfect. Certainly perfect enough to finally be married to Draco Malfoy. Neither party had had any illusions about their marriage. The Parkinson's had power, but the Malfoy's had more. Pansy was physically perfect in every way, and Draco was undeniably handsome. She had been pleased with the match anyway, and Draco seemed equally satisfied. Until Marigold was born, he'd remained dutiful to her. And then, the child had stolen his heart. Pansy could see why. Marigold had looked exactly like him, down to her soft silvery hair to her gray eyes. Who couldn't love a mirror image of themselves? She wouldn't have killed the girl for taking the attention that belonged to Pansy. Most assuredly she would have resented her for it, but she wouldn't have done anything about it.  
  
It had been... gratifying, she supposed, to find that his perfect angel was a squib. She'd kept her suspicions to herself for awhile, let the Death Eaters slowly become suspect of the girl. Then, she'd slipped a small bit of a sedative in Draco's wine at dinner, and watered the seed of doubt that was resting in the back of all their minds. It hadn't taken much, and then the girl was dead.  
  
So her perfect husband had gone into mourning for a few years, and she'd paid enough money to have the marriage dissolved. It was ridiculously simple. She'd waited a bit, made it look like she was mourning over her dead daughter, and then she was gloriously free of him. Jet was insanely wealthy, and had made an agreement with her. They were both forgiven their dalliances, and he had an excuse as to why he couldn't marry the women he seduced. She had money, and the power of the Frangoso name.  
  
All in all, Pansy had a fairly rewarding existence.  
  
Still, in the back of her mind was this nagging little voice, telling her she'd been rejected. When Draco returned, he hadn't come looking for her at all. She'd expected something, a bit of fireworks or even just a note, telling her where the little wretch had been buried. Then she'd seen him at the Minister's Gala, and he'd spent the entire night looking at that little bit of do-gooder-fluff. He'd practically taken Jet's head off just for dancing with the little chit.  
  
What got under her skin the most was not that Draco was courting the Weasley woman. It was the way he was going about it, as if he weren't doing it for the minimal bit of power the girl possessed. When he looked at her it was as if no one else in the room was there. She hadn't cared for him much, but it grated on her that he cared for someone else.  
  
A fly buzzed onto the edifice of the building and Pansy smiled. Another benefit of Knockturn Alley was that anything at all could be bought for a price. Even information.  
  
  
  
  
Glin stretched lazily out on her bed. She'd sent Ron packing last night, and he'd been terribly upset. It was the sort of thing she'd done before, nothing terribly new about it. Sending someone away made things absolutely delicious when you allowed them to return. Still, she felt a twinge in her chest. Almost like she felt guilty about it...  
  
Which was ridiculous. It wasn't like she was toying with his emotions. She really was busy this time. One of her modeling friends had begged her to watch her son this afternoon, and she really couldn't entertain a child after spending the night entertaining Ron. Although, when she thought about it, it probably hadn't sounded like a very good excuse to Ron at the time. She just hadn't thought to explain that she'd never done this sort of thing before, and was already a bit nervous about doing it.  
  
The doorbell chimed, and Glin pulled on a robe. Fawn was standing there, with a small child in her arms. "Desmond's asleep. He'll probably wake within the hour. I've brought along a carton of vitamin-d milk. It's all he's to have to drink. You'll know he wants it if he makes little fists with his hands. Don't let him have more than two full bottles of it though, or you'll be knee deep in messy nappies before lunch. He wears only cloth nappies, I've included ten in the bag, but you probably won't need more than four or five. I'm trying to wean him from the pacifier, so if he's a bit more scream-y than usual, that's why. He can have a banana cut into bits and some cereal for breakfast, let him feed himself though, or he wont eat at all. For lunch, try whole wheat toast cut into squares, and grapes cut into fourths. You can try him on the broccoli cheese baby food, but if he gets too fussy, just clean him up. He usually has a nap after lunch, but he hasn't been sleeping well, so just let him play until I come back. I expect the shoot will be done by four at the latest. Bye!"  
  
The woman deposited the infant in Glin's arms, dropped a huge bag on the sofa, and beat a hasty retreat. For her part, Glin just looked horribly confused. The infant in her arms stirred a bit, and his eyes fluttered. A set of killer baby blues focused on her, and the child began to cry. Glin jostled the child, reassuring it. "I'm Auntie Glin, and we're going to have lots of fun today!"  
  
Somehow, the child wasn't reassured.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
With great trepidation, Ginny rang the doorbell at Malfoy Manor. The door slid open, and she stepped in.   
  
"It works now," she called to no one in particular. Draco didn't seem to be lingering about anywhere, so she decided to visit Marigold first.. She walked up the grand staircase, and made her way through the dark passageways of his house. She was about to open the door to Marigold's room when she heard voices inside.  
  
"Missus Merriwether, would you like some more tea?" Marigold's small voice made it's way through the wooden door.  
  
A falsetto responded. "Certainly, Marigold. Could I have a biscuit, too?"  
  
"May you have a biscuit," Marigold corrected. "And yes, you may."  
  
"Delightful," the falsely high voice crooned. A few moments later, the same voice, though now considerably lower screeched. "Blast!"  
  
"You've spilled tea on yourself again, haven't you father," Marigold's voice now rang with disappointment. "You're not very good at this."  
  
"As evidenced by the third degree burns," he agreed.  
  
"If only you'd marry Aunt Ginny..."  
  
Ginny blushed and felt her face move into a grin.  
  
"It's not that simple."  
  
Ginny frowned.  
  
"Courting someone takes a great deal of time Marigold. Besides, I'm not even sure she'd say yes."  
  
"But she would!"  
  
"For right now, we're both just going to have to settle for seeing Ginny on occasion, rather than all the time. That's just the way it has to be for awhile."  
  
"What about after awhile?"  
  
"I don't know about that any better than you do, darling."  
  
Ginny decided she'd had quite enough of eavesdropping and opened the door. "Hullo!"  
  
Draco's face fell, and somehow Ginny couldn't blame him. Draco, or "Missus Merriwether" as he was evidently known on the tea and biscuits circuit, couldn't have looked more ridiculous if he had tried. A large, floppy-brimmed white hat adorned with begonias was, by far, the most prominent accessory. In addition to the hat, he was wearing a pink feather boa, a pair of white satin gloves with little bows, and was holding a rather large purse with the word "princess" embroidered upon it.  
  
In retrospect, she probably should have laughed as hard as she did. She collapsed to the floor, and tears were streaming down her face as she rolled back and forth. "I...sorry...so ridiculous," she panted in between giggle fits.  
  
Draco looked at Ginny, rolling about on the carpet and laughing at him. "I don't think Ginny here has the proper respect for Missus Merriwether," he told Marigold.  
  
"Missus Merriwether is very dignified, Aunt Ginny," Marigold told her sternly. "She may be a bit clumsy at times, but she's very sensitive."  
  
"Sorry Missus..." Ginny said before collapsing into another giggle fit.  
  
"That's it," proclaimed Missus Merriwether in her trademark falsetto, as Draco removed the gloves. "The gloves are off."  
  
Draco and Marigold pounced upon Ginny, tickling her until she begged for mercy. "I can't breathe."  
  
They let her up, and she caught her breath before saying, "oldest trick in the book." She began to tickle them both simultaneously. Unfortunately, one handed tickling was tricky, and in just a few minutes, she'd been flipped to her back. "Ok, I give up!" She cried.   
  
"Say the magic word," Draco chided her as Marigold went to work on her feet.  
  
"Please! I'm sorry! Uncle! Peanut Butter! Pretty please with rainbow sprinkles on top!!!"  
  
They let her go and she sat up. "Which one was it?"  
  
"I suppose you'll never know," Draco said with mock sympathy.  
  
"Are you staying tonight?" Marigold asked out of nowhere.   
  
"In the manor, yes. In this room, no." Marigold's eyes began to tear up. "Now none of that. I can't be sleeping in your bed all the time. I'm staying in the manor, and that's a special treat anyway."  
  
The child smiled and yawned. "I suppose that's all right. I better not take my nap today, so I can play with you. Besides, I'm not tired at all."  
  
Draco opened his mouth, but Ginny handled it. "You just yawned, you're tired. Now hop into bed so you don't fall asleep in your dinner." The child grumbled, but did as she was told and was asleep within minutes.   
  
Draco and Ginny retired to the study downstairs. After a few breathless kisses, Draco pulled away. "How long were you standing outside that door?"  
  
"I suppose you'll never know," Ginny said, before pulling him to her.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ron was attempting to walk off his anger again. It really wasn't working this time. She'd completely blown him off, and she'd done it with an exceedingly lame excuse. "I have to baby-sit." What was she, fourteen? She was independently wealthy and she was picking up extra knuts watching babies?   
  
Inexplicably, he found himself heading in the direction of Glin's flat. Even more disturbing was the fact that he was now standing outside the door of Glin's flat. He'd only really ever been there once, yet he was sure this was it. He pondered knocking for a moment before deciding to just burst in.   
  
Glin was sitting in a leather recliner, rocking back and forth. Sprawled across her was a sleeping child, a large, wet spot of drool on her chest directly under it's mouth. Her hair was streaked with bits of green and pale yellow.  
  
"I'm not sure I care for your hair," he told her truthfully.  
  
"It's not a style. It's bits of banana and broccoli cheese baby food," she replied matter-of-factly. The child in her arms stirred. "Don't worry Dovey. It's only Uncle Ron."  
  
"Uncle Ron?"  
  
"For some reason I feel the overwhelming need to refer to everyone this baby is unacquainted with as his Aunt or Uncle. I also keep calling inanimate objects 'Mister.' D'you think I'm crazy?"  
  
"Undeniably," he told her, before kissing her brow. "When's this pot of trouble leaving?"  
  
"He was supposed to be gone an hour ago. D'you think maybe Fawn's leaving him with me forever?" Her voice sounded hopeful.  
  
At that moment, Fawn walked through the open door to collect her child.  
  
When she was gone, Ron turned to Glin. "I think if you're going to take on dirty diapers for the rest of your life, you're probably best off having your own little one."  
  
"But that's going to take a really long time, Ron. I'd have to find someone to be it's father, even if he's only willing to contribute a few moments of his time. And then a whole nine months... I want a baby now, Ron."  
  
"You only want a baby now because you've just been holding a sleeping baby. They're a little bit like narcotics that way. You only really want them when you've been exposed to them for too long."  
  
"You could be it's father..."  
  
"Don't get started on that. I'm not going to be a father to some child that I'll never see. All of my children will be produced during a marriage." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. "But I'm not so heartless that I'll let you go out looking for sperm when you haven't even practiced..."  



	35. The Beginning of the End

Ginny sat perched on the edge of his desk, and although the parchment in front of him had been begging his attention for weeks, his mind's eye kept wandering back to how he'd rather be spending the evening.  
  
He looked so studious, with his reading spectacles sliding down his nose and a bit of fair hair falling into his eyes. It really was rather cute. "What's that?"  
  
"Cost estimates on having someone come in and re-landscape."  
  
"Why? The gardens are lovely in an ominous, foreboding sort of way. If you change them, they won't go with the manor."  
  
"While I adore playing the hero for you every once in awhile, I'm not quite sure I'm up to rescuing you from man-eating flora."  
  
"Party pooper," she pouted playfully. "Let me have a look. I've always excelled at maths." Ginny walked around to his side of the desk. Leaning over him, she looked over the proposal. "This is ridiculous.  
  
"I can't make sense of it either," he admitted."  
  
"Oh, I can make sense of it," she explained. "It's just ridiculous. I mean, look here." She bent over and her curls fell forward to dance across the paper. "Fifteen-hundred for degnoming? An estate of this size shouldn't cost more than four-fifty to degnome. And what's this business about 'labor?' The whole bloody thing is labor, not parts. They can't be tacking on a fee like that."  
  
She trailed off when she noticed Draco wasn't listening any longer. He was staring up at her, and his eyes had gone all dark. He began by nuzzling her neck, and soon all thoughts of maths and landscaping had dissolved. His gentle caresses traveled up the slender column of her throat, and then his lips found hers. He had the overwhelming sensation of being drugged. Everything was in slow motion. It had to have been more than an hour before he pulled her down onto his lap, and it was quite possible he took years running his hands through her silken mass of hair. In actual time, however, it was only a few minutes before she pushed him away.  
  
"You've got to take care of this business with the garden," she told him.  
  
"Later," he breathed, as he dove for her mouth.  
  
"Now," she said firmly. "It'll only take an hour if you put your mind to it."  
  
"I think it'll probably take all night if we put our minds to it." He grinned wolfishly.  
  
"Not that, the garden. You've got to get it done now or you never will. I'm going to go crawl into bed. Wake me when you're done."  
  
"I will," he sighed, already thinking of inventive ways to do just that as she sashayed out the door.  
  
The work was done, as Ginny had predicted, within an hour. He'd owl out everything in the morning, but just now, he had a princess to awaken.  
  
  
  
  
"Snow King is on the move. Visuals on the Minister?" The Commander said.  
  
The hum of computer equipment and the clacking of typing were the only sounds until another replied. "Visuals on the Minister, screens two and three. She's sleeping like a baby... and here he comes."  
  
The man on screen began to strip, and all discrete eyes turned away. "Minimize it. We can at least afford them that courtesy."  
  
"For how long?"  
  
"30 minutes."  
  
"Commander, in the past they've taken hours."  
  
"Courtesy doesn't eliminate the necessity for caution. We're here to do a job, not to shy away from our posts because we've become emotionally involved in a relationship that will most likely end in tragedy," she told them.  
  
"Most likely?"  
  
"I'm arrogant enough to say that my team is good. I won't be foolish enough to call us perfect."  
  
"Right."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco slipped into bed, curling around Ginny. "You make the most wonderful little noises when you're waking up."  
  
"I wasn't sleeping," she yawned as she stretched her shoulders. "I was just resting my eyes."  
  
"A likely story," he teased as he rolled her onto her stomach and began to massage her back.  
  
"Incredibly likely considering it takes the average person 45 minutes to fall asleep, and it's always taken me at least twice that," she told him before purring, "lower. How'd you get this good at massage?"  
  
"Part of Marigold's physical therapy." He began kneading the muscles of her lower back. "You're all knotted up back here. You've been spending too long at the ministry."  
  
"You just say that because you feel neglected," Ginny reasoned.  
  
His arms slid around her and he deftly flipped her over. "Can you blame me?" He unbuttoned the bottom of her pajama shirt, and ceremoniously placed a kiss to her navel.  
  
She sighed and arched her back. "Skip that. Get up here."  
  
"Bit impatient, are we?"  
  
"Definitely. Draco," she sighed.  
  
"Coming..."  
  
  
  
  
"Can't we wait until they're done?" One protested.  
  
"Modify screen two to exclude the bed, minimize screen three," dictated the Commander. "We'll let them carry on awhile longer, I suppose."  
  
They sat in silence for awhile, until one of them spoke up. "Did anyone else just see that?"  
  
"See what?" Asked the Commander.  
  
"The cushion on that armchair just moved."  
  
"Close up on the armchair." She leaned close to the screen, looking at the seat cushion which was compressed. "Fuck. All screens on the bedroom, screen one remains on the chair, screen two on the bed..." her voice trailed off as the computer screens flickered then settled on static. The command station erupted into chaos.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sweaty and sated, Ginny rested her head on Draco's chest. "That was..."  
  
"Amazing," Draco finished.  
  
"Amazingly boring," corrected the voice by the fireplace. "Although entirely educational. I don't recall you ever calling my name out in the heat of passion."  
  
Draco sat up, pushing Ginny behind him. "Pansy, what exactly is your reasoning for being invisible in my room? You found me entirely unsatisfactory as a husband and I don't see why you're not over me by now." Well, he intended to say that anyway. All he really got out was "Pansy? What?"  
  
"It's really quite simple, Draco. Payback, as they say, is a bitch." Then, almost as an after thought, her singsong voice chimed. "Stupefy."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco woke with a pounding headache. His wrists were bound together, and his legs were attached to one of the armchairs facing the fireplace.  
  
"Which do you think would be more emotionally damaging- watching me torture her, or just hearing her scream?"  
  
Draco struggled against his bindings.  
  
"Oh, calm down," Pansy said harshly. "She's not even awake yet. She's just a slip of a thing. The spell hasn't worn off yet. We'll wait around for Miss Weasley to join the party. While we're waiting, where exactly is our delightful little daughter?"  
  
At the mention of Marigold, Draco stilled.  
  
"You'd really be amazed the things people blurt out when they think no one's in the room. Odd, isn't it? I've had my people watching you since you returned, and until tonight, I didn't know about anything except your 'secret' tryst with the Minister." She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, if you were trying to keep the whole thing out of the public eye, you shouldn't have been glowering at her all through the gala. Although, somehow, I think it probably was her idea to keep the whole thing a secret."  
  
"Don't try and turn me against her. It's not going to work. Just kill me and be done with it." His voice was low and angry."  
  
"You seem confused about this whole situation. I am the one who makes orders. You're the one bound to the chair. I really imagined you'd catch on much quicker," she sighed. "And I wasn't trying to turn you against her. I'd just imagine that someone like Virginia Weasley wouldn't appreciate being associated with the likes of us."  
  
"You and I are nothing alike."  
  
"That's the understatement of the century. However, our reputations are practically identical. She probably loves the bad boy image you project, but she's not about to take you home to mother, now is she?" Pansy laughed. "Well, I guess she won't really be taking anything home to mother, now. I haven't decided if I'm going to kill her or just drive her completely mad."  
  
"What-"  
  
"Wait a moment, she appears to be waking up...you were right about those little noises. Most endearing. Hullo, Ginny."  
  
"'lo Pansy. I expect you'll be killing us then?"  
  
"Oh, she's a bright one, Draco. Definitely a keeper if things had turned out differently. I suppose we best get down to business then. I think we'll go with the old standard. Reverso!"  
  
Draco's chair flew around, and he saw Ginny laying on the large trunk that lay at the foot of his bed. She appeared to be groggy but unharmed.  
  
"It's kind of like an altar, isn't it. Judging from the little exhibition that you two put on earlier, I somehow doubt that she's a sacrificial virgin. Pity. It would have been interesting. Although I suppose we could do that with Marigold when we find her. Unfortunately, I'm almost certain both of you will have to be near death before I get her location out of you."  
  
"We won't tell you," Ginny said vehemently.  
  
"You never can be sure what you'll do under duress. If I have to kill you both and let the little dear starve to death I will. It'd just be more immediately gratifying to watch her die."  
  
"Why are you doing this? You already have everything you could possibly want," Ginny reasoned.  
  
"That's true. I suppose the time has come for me to reveal my criminally genius evil plan while someone prepares to rescue you. Fortunately for me, I've placed a number of wards on the house that will take hours to remove. No one's getting in here for quite some time, so we've plenty of time to play." She smiled. "I feel torture should be both painful and educational. So we're going to play a game. I ask you a question, you answer correctly, and I'll reward you with an answer to a question of yours. It's incredibly simple. First question goes to Draco darling. Has Ginny ever experience the Cruciatus curse?"   
  
Draco just glared at her.  
  
"Oh don't be a spoilsport," she chided him. "I could just start torturing her now."  
  
"No," Draco said curtly.  
  
"Very good. Ask me your question."  
  
"Why must you involve her in this?"  
  
"Who, Ginny? Well, aside from the obvious reason of her being here, it's convenient. I always intended to kill a minister, I just never really got around to it. Your really don't expect a life of leisure to be quite so jam-packed, but with all the revenge-planning and shoe shopping, I've been hard pressed for a free moment. There's also that bit where you love her, and I hate you." She explained before absentmindedly adding, "crucio."  
  
Ginny's body arched in pain. It was as if white hot knives were being stabbed at her from the inside. Tears began to stream down her face, and her body slid to the floor where she curled into a fetal position.  
  
"First lesson. In this game, all rewards have consequences," Pansy told them gleefully. "Ginny's turn. Ginny, did you know that there are an infinite amount of ways I could hurt you without even using my wand?"  
  
"Yes," Ginny's voice was strong and clean, although it was obvious the pain of the curse was still affecting her body. "How could you do that to your daughter?"  
  
"Quick and to the point. If it weren't for your rabid affection for my ex-husband, I might respect you. Marigold ceased being my daughter when Draco first saw her. Her being such a squib made her not only annoying, but unacceptable. So, I dealt with it. Now for the consequences."  
  
After another curse, Pansy pulled Ginny into a sitting position and knelt next to her while staring at Draco. She pulled a dagger out of her robe. "Let's let Ginny have another turn. Ginny, do you remember this?"  
  
"It's the dagger from my dream," she said in bewilderment. "The dagger that the engagement ring turned in to."  
  
"Once again, very good. I intended for you to kill Draco with it, but somehow your psyche mixed it all up. The end result was just as horrific, however, so I was ultimately pleased."  
  
"You sent me those dreams?"  
  
"I'd give you a biscuit, but I'm fresh out," Pansy patronized. "I really think one of you would have figured it out by now. 'Hmm... We're all being plagued by terrible dreams... perhaps someone is sending them to us...' Maybe guilt makes you daft. It wasn't all me, after all. The two of you are harboring enough guilt to put the Catholics out of business, Draco especially. It's understandable, considering his actions destroyed poor little Neville, and his inaction permanently crippled Marigold. And now you Ginny. All for the love of a socially unacceptable man. A little too Emily Bronte for my taste, but to each his own. I've babbled enough though. Time for a consequence." She made a show out of it, running the blade down her index finger before finally carving the word "love" into Ginny's forehead. The blood ran in rivulets down Ginny's face, and her eyes winced shut at the pain.  
  
"Done!" Pansy proclaimed triumphantly as she turned her attention to Draco. "Oh don't look so tense. It's not like I cut an artery. I wouldn't even consider jeopardizing what promises to be a very rewarding evening."  
  
  
  
  
  
At the command center, all hell had broken loose. Computers were being rebooted, cables checked, and the problem was horribly obvious. Some kind of electrical disturbance had destroyed any connection they'd had to Malfoy Manor. It was as if an invisible force field had been placed around the mansion's gates, stopping everything, including signals, from getting in.  
  
"Give me a time estimate on the return of the surveillance systems."  
  
"Three hours on the inside, Commander, if we're extremely lucky."  
  
"We aren't. The entire mission hangs in the balance. Call in the locals."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Green dot on the pumpkin stuff!" Harry exclaimed as Hermione slipped out of his arms. Shaking his head as if to dislodge the dream, he asked her, "Where're you going?"  
  
"There's an owl at the window. Probably urgent."  
  
She pushed the window open an a brown owl flew in. She pulled the parchment off its leg and blanched.  
  
"Fuck."  
  
Harry rolled over. "See you in a few days."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"After Marigold was born, I used to wonder why it'd been so easy for you to turn away from me. Then I realized that you never were truly devoted to the cause. Sure, you'd throw out a few curses, throw your weight behind it, did your fair share of wooing the Dark Lord, but the passion was never really there. You missed the point of the whole movement, Draco. It's about power. About the power to crush the people who hurt you, crucio,"-another curse hurled at Ginny. "Or disobey you, crucio,"-another. "Or just plain piss you off. That's what you never developed, Draco. The power to hurt people just because you can, because it's fun, cru-"  
  
But Pansy never finished her diatribe. A small, incredibly calm voice called out, "Stupefy," and Pansy froze. In the same moment, Pansy collapsed and Draco's wand fell out of Marigold's hand, clattering to the floor.  



	36. The Waiting Game

Authors Note: Once again, I've given up sleeping to churn out another chapter. I'll try and get a bit more done, but I'm not making any promises. If you'd like to discuss this chapter, or any others, review, and come talk to me in the WAiSaD chat room, at the e-group http://groups.yahoo.com/group/WAiSaD, Wednesday the Fifth at 9:30PM central time. I expect to have this story wrapped up in a couple chapters. I'm seriously considering writing a sequel, quite possibly starring Glin, and maybe a bit of Ron, depending on how he treats me. Somehow, I suspect one of them is a Cancer. Quite possibly both of them. Anyhow, take the polls about this story at the e-group, or e-mail me about whatever at mlpmama@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 36  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
Marigold stared at the two bodies laying on the floor, then turned her gaze to her father. "Is that my mother?"  
  
"Yes," his voice broke as he watched pain flit through his daughters eyes. "Bring me my wand, please."  
  
Silently, she obeyed him. Within moments, Draco was free from the armchair, and was hastily tying Pansy up.  
  
"Is Aunt Ginny going to die."  
  
"I don't know," he told her truthfully as he finished binding Pansy.  
  
Ginny wasn't moving, and if it wasn't for the very slight rise and fall of her chest, he'd have thought she was dead. Blood was still flowing freely from the lesions on her face. She looked broken, like a doll played with too roughly then thrown away. "Marigold, fetch me all the towels you can find. Wet two or three of them, please."  
  
The little girl ran off without a word. Draco slipped an arm under Ginny's head, and kissed the top of her head. She began to stir, and he quieted her. "Don't move, Darling. Marigold's coming with some compresses, and when she gets back we'll owl for help."  
  
"Can't, wards on the house," Ginny bit out. "Pansy?"  
  
"Marigold knocked her out. I haven't a clue where she picked it up, but she's evidently quite magically adept. We'll take her to someone, find out exactly what's going on with her."  
  
Ginny smiled for a moment before a coughing spasm over took her, and a look of agony crossed her face. Marigold rushed back in, dropping scores of towels next to Ginny. "I-"  
  
"Go wait in the hall, Marigold."  
  
"But I-"  
  
"Go please."  
  
Grumbling, the child left.  
  
"Thanks," Ginny told him "Don't want her to see me like this." She began coughing again, and a small trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. "I just want you to know-"  
  
"Tell me later," he said fiercely, not trying to hold the tears back any longer. "You're not going to get away from me this easily."  
  
"Sorry," she told him, a single tear tracing it's way across her temple. "Not enough time."  
  
Draco sobbed openly now, huge, fat tears falling on Ginny's too-pale face. "We'll find a way out, we'll get you to a medi-wizard- I'll..." his eyebrows rose as an idea came to mind. "The catacombs. She won't have warded the catacombs, we'll go out that way."  
  
He picked her up gently, and he knew he had to be hurting her, jostling broken bones or bruised muscle. She didn't cry out though, just rolled her head to rest against his shoulder. Then he realized she hadn't rolled her head at all. It had just fallen there. Her body was limp and her eyes were closed and no matter how loud he screamed her name out, she didn't respond.  
  
It didn't matter. Marigold had been nearly this bad, and she's still made it. He'd fight his way though the catacombs, and then he'd disapparate to the nearest hospital. He made his way down the stairs, Marigold trailing behind him, into the dank basement, and then into the catacombs. He hadn't gone very far when four women clad in black came into view.  
  
A tall woman with honey blonde hair began barking out orders. "Where's Parkinson?"  
  
"She's tied up in the study," Marigold told her helpfully.  
  
"Knight, see that Parkinson is escorted to the nearest containment facility. Ferran, watch the kid. Granger, you're transporting us to the nearest medical center."  
  
The other women dispersed, and Hermione began setting parameters for a mass transportation spell.  
  
"Excuse me," Draco said. "Not that I don't appreciate the help, but who in the blazes are you?"  
  
"Joanne Law, Commander, Special Ops. We'll have you out of here in a moment Mr. Malfoy. Everything is being taken care of."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A motley assortment of people sat in the waiting room. The men wore the stubble of a long day on their chins, and the women were rubbing tiredly at their eyes. The cat, for the most part, was irritable.  
  
"Plain idiotic, if you ask me," she told Hermione. "What were they thinking? 'We'll just keep this plot against the Minister under wraps. Wouldn't want to alarm her.'"  
  
"Now, Minnie, be fair. They're not Ministry people, they're Americans and they're Special Ops. You can't expect them to clear their operations with us first." Secretly, Hermione thought you could expect them to clear these sorts of things. It was all well and good that they'd caught Pansy, but Ginny'd almost died in the meantime.  
  
"That's departmental protocol bullshit, and you know it."  
  
Glin chimed in. "McGonagall, shut up. What's done is done, and you're just getting everyone all riled up again."  
  
The cat grumbled something unintelligible and laid her head upon her paws.  
  
Marigold slipped off Draco's lap and walked over to Glin.  
  
"Why's the cat talking?"  
  
McGonagall raised her head. "Not really a cat. I'm enchanted."  
  
"Oh." Marigold thought on this a moment before reaching out her hand to pet McGonagall. "'lo Talking Cat. I'm Marigold."  
  
"Really!" The cat said, affronted at being treated like a house pet. "This is most undignified! I..." Minnie's voice trailed off as Marigold began scratching beneath her chin. "Do that some more."  
  
A mediwizard came out, and everyone stood. "Sit down," he told them. "We've got her stabilized. I won't lie to you, the damage is extensive, and she's not out of the woods by any means. We probably won't know for a week or so. She's unconscious now, and we don't expect her to come out of it for a few days, at the least. Most of her bones are on the mend, and there doesn't appear to be any damage to the spinal column. There's been a strain to her heart, and her liver and kidneys have been pretty beat up. From what Mr. Malfoy told me, she was lucid immediately before becoming unconscious, so major psychological damage is fairly unlikely. That's really all I can tell you right now."  
  
  
"Can we see her?" Molly asked through bits of torn tissue.  
  
"Yes, but only for a moment or two, and only immediate family members." He surveyed the group of people who'd stood up at his last remark, and revised his statement. "Only her parents."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny was sitting in a lawn chair, waiting for something. She wasn't entirely sure who or what it was, but she was fairly certain it was important. The room was a creamy, off-white color, and very simple. Four walls, a ceiling, and two lawn chairs. Someone far away was singing, but the only bit of the the lyrics she could make out was "seven days."  
  
A clicking sound came from behind her, and she noticed a door had materialized out of nowhere. Neville stepped through, wearing robes of the same color as the room. He smiled. "Hullo Ginny."  
  
"I'm dead then?"  
  
"Not really," he told her.  
  
"Then this isn't Heaven?"  
  
"Technically, it is. It's kind of difficult to explain, actually. It's kind of like Monopoly. You're the little Scottie dog in 'just visiting," and I'm the shoe in lock-up." He winked.  
  
"You're... different here."  
  
"Everyone is really," he told her.  
  
"Even Percy?"  
  
He laughed, and she wiped a tear out of her eye. She's missed that laugh. "Especially Percy. Affter the introductory fondue get-together at God's house, he's become a regular party animal. He and Einstein got smashed at the birthday shindig 'Pac threw for Biggie last week and were lip-synching to Debbie Gibson while completely... but that's entirely irrelevant."  
  
"Can I see him? Percy, I mean?"  
  
"Perhaps for a moment or two. I need to talk to you first and our time here isn't unlimited.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"Draco. You've gotten pretty close to him, haven't you Gin?"  
  
"It's just-"  
  
"No need to explain," he said with an understanding smile. "I'm not upset about it, Ginny. He's a good man. I wouldn't have helped him otherwise."  
  
"But I still love you!"  
  
"It's not the same and you know it. If Pansy hadn't hurt you, you'd be sitting eating French toast with him and Marigold right now."  
  
"But she did."  
  
"Think for a moment. If you had to go through all the pain again just to be with him for an hour, would you do it?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Then stop making trouble about it. That's why you're here. You're brain can't seem to accept the fact that in a month or two you're going to be unfathomably happy."  
  
"You make it sound like a fairy tale, Neville. It's not. We fight and we scream, and we constantly hurt each other."  
  
"And then you kiss and you makeup. That's what love is, Ginny."  
  
"But that's not what I had with you!" She countered.  
  
"And what we had wasn't love," he told her reasonably. "Not in that kind of way. It was friendship, and we deluded ourselves into thinking it was more. I'm not going to be hurt by any of this Ginny. I'm dead. I've got too much to be doing to be worrying about you all the time."  
  
"Can you honestly tell me it wouldn't bother you at all if Draco and I lived happily ever after?"  
  
"I want you to be happy, and I'm telling you right now, he can do that. I couldn't. I refuse to argue about it any more. I'll page Percy and send him in." Neville walked out the door and moments later, Percy appeared. He was wearing a sombrero.  
  
And a kilt.  
  
"I've only got a minute, so let's be quick about it." Percy hugged her tightly. "Yes, it bothers me that it's Malfoy, yes, I'll watch the wedding anyway. Wish I could be there in person, but it'd probably send Mum into hysterics and I'm fairly certain it's not even possible. Let them know that I'll be there for all of it, even if you can't really see me. I miss you, Gin. I miss all of you terribly, but it's really fantastic here. It sounds a bit like a postcard from summer camp, but I mean it." He hugged her tighter. "You're about to leave, so I guess this is goodbye."  
  
She blinked, and Percy began getting fuzzy, like an abstract painting of her brother. His voice was softer. "Tell Pen I'm sorry I was a git, an I'll always love her."  
  
She blinked again, and the darkness of sleep enveloped her.  
  



	37. Finale

Author's note: So, this is it, guys. The last chapter. It's done. Over. Finito. However, depending on the response this gets, I may be goaded into writing a sequel. So in your reviews, tell me what you want. It's as simple as all that. It's been a fun ride, but we knew it all had to end sometime. ~TGP  
  
  
  
Glin flipped through a fashion magazine, yawning. The Weasleys had decided that only family could visit Ginny at all. Fortunately, immediately before one of Ron's turns, Glin had played doctor with him in the supply closet, convincing him to sneak her in. Ron had escaped to the cafeteria for a moment, so it was just her and Ginny.  
  
Some sort of a monitor kept bleeping monotonously at her. Really, wouldn't the damn thing be more helpful if it just bleeped when something changed? She glanced at Ginny a moment before turning back to the magazine. "'Perfectly Pear.' Sounds interesting. We'll have to call the company and get some samples. Although, I'm been considering trying an orange color scheme. It'd clash fantastically with Ron, if we ever went out. I doubt we will though. I mean, we've been going at it like rabbits. We'll have to get tired of each other sometime."  
  
"Glin," came a scratchy voice from the bed. "That's fucking creepy."  
  
Glin dropped her magazine. "You're up! Let me get a mediwizard or something."  
  
"Water, first."  
  
Glin hesitated a moment before pouring a glass of water from the plastic pitcher sitting on the bedside table. "Everyone's been out of their minds with worry. The doctors asked them to stay out of the waiting room because there were just too many people."  
  
"How long have I been out? And who are all these things from?" Ginny motioned to the room, which appeared to have been in a battle with a floral shop and lost.  
  
"You've been unconscious for three days," Glin told her. "And you're the Minister of Magic, so they're from lots of people. The pathetic looking mum with the balloon stick is from the Finnigans, The various rose arrangements are from your immediate family members. The fun, little daisy arrangement is from me and Ron. Of course by "and Ron" I mean he forgot to get anything then wrote his name on my card. The Birds of Paradise are from a mysterious 'D.'" She smirked. "I'm sure it's due to all the long hours you spent helping him dispose of his Dark Arts stuff, starting with his ex-wife."  
  
"They're ok?"  
  
"I assume you mean the Malfoys. Fantastic, actually. Although I'm fairly certain you waking up won't hurt matters. Marigold's fairly upset with him over that."  
  
"Over what?"  
  
"She's pissed because he hasn't come and woken you up with true love's first kiss. Probably pretty difficult for him to humor her though, with the entire Weasley collective guarding the door. He tried to sneak in a few times, but Bill, Charlie and the twins almost thrashed him for it."  
  
"Funny, I would have pegged Ron for the childish outburst."  
  
"He was...erm...occupied at the time."  
  
"While I was lying in my death bed, you were shagging my brother?"  
  
"Oh, stop being melodramatic." Glin grinned hugely. "I missed bickering with you."  
  
"Me, too. Do me a favor, get that medi-wizard in here to release me, and bring my secretary back with you."  
  
"You don't want me to owl your mother?"  
  
"Has everyone gone insane while I was sleeping?"  
  
  
A few moments later, a medi-wizard popped in. "How are we feeling, Minister?"  
  
"Like I'm not dying, so definitely an improvement. Outside of that, I feel like I've been struck by a freight train, if that's indicative of anything."  
  
"It's to be expected. Most of your bones have just been mended, and your muscles are probably pretty sore from the curses."  
  
"Mhmm... Can I walk?"  
  
"Not for six weeks. I wouldn't want you falling and re-injuring something. In fact, you should be on complete bed rest for the next three weeks."  
  
"Why can't I just have a wheelchair or crutches?"  
  
"If we're not careful, you could have permanent organ damage."  
  
"Give me a wheelchair anyway. I'll take a two and a half week vacation, and..."  
  
"Three weeks."  
  
"Whatever. First get the paperwork for my release."  
  
"Minister Weasely, you're incapable of caring for yourself in this condition."  
  
"Which is why I'll get Glin to stay over, or something. Besides, I can sign myself out if I want to."  
  
"Fine," the medi-wizard said. As he stormed out, Glin and a small, timid woman with dark brown curly hair. "Minister?"  
  
"I've told you time and time again, Sadie. Just call me Ginny. I need you to arrange a meeting..."  
  
"Are you sure you're"  
  
"-I need to get this done. I want my immediate family, Harry, Herm, and Draco Malfoy in my apartment at 8PM."  
  
"9PM," Glin corrected. "We'll need time to fix you up. You look pretty bad."  
  
"Thanks," Ginny said with a roll of her eyes.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Glin, are you sure about this?" Ginny looked at herself in the mirror and scrunched her nose skeptically. "I'm just having my family over. Why do I need to get all tarted up?  
  
"Because, you looked all pale before. They're not going to let you alone if you look dead."  
  
"Granted, but aren't you going a little overboard?"  
  
"I haven't added the other layers of blush yet."  
  
"'Layers?' What am I, an oil painting?" Ginny queried worriedly.  
  
"Oil paintings don't complain this much," Glin said pointedly. "Stop talking. You keep moving your face and I'll mess it up."  
  
Ginny sat still for a moment while Glin ran sable brushes of varying sizes over her face. She circled Ginny a few times before putting her brush down. "Okay, now look."  
  
Ginny had to admit, she looked ten times better. Somehow, Glin's blushers and eye shadows were barely noticeable, but still made her face look warmer and more alive.  
  
"Aren't I wonderful?" Glin smiled knowingly. "Want a cup of tea before they all show up?"  
  
"If it's not too much trouble. You're already doing so much..."  
  
Glin spun around, a teapot already in one hand. "Let's be honest here, Gin. We both know that the most likely outcome of this little get-together involves Draco, Marigold and Minnie staying here to take care of you while I shag Ron until he forgets that he's angry at you."  
  
"Glin, ew, he's my brother!"  
  
"He's also a tiger in the sack." She shrugged her shoulders. "What? Just trying to establish my motive here."  
  
The doorbell rang. They both turned their heads to the wall clock in the kitchen which clearly read 8:30.  
  
"I would've thought they'd just floo in," Glin said as she went to answer the door.  
  
"It's just like them to be early the one time I want them to be late."  
  
The three women behind the door weren't family though. In fact, Ginny found herself hard pressed to even call them acquaintances.  
  
"Sheridan?" Glin said in surprise.  
  
"Actually, it's Joanne," explained the honey-blonde. She stuck her hand out to shake Glin's hand. "Joanne Law, Commander, Special Ops. My team and I were assigned to the capture of Pansy Parkinson."  
  
"What, like she was lost?" Glin asked sarcastically.  
  
"We had to wait for her to commit a crime we could pin on her. We knew she was Dark, we just didn't have any proof. If we had known... well actually, I'm not entirely sure we could have done anything, and in the end, our reconnaissance mission did save your life..." Law stared at the shocked faces looking back at her. "I digress. I'm just glad you weren't killed."  
  
Ginny looked confused. "Thanks, I think."  
  
"I'm Tracy Knight," one of the Agents broke in. "And she wouldn't even be here if she wasn't after your brother."  
  
Law's cheeks blushed.  
  
"What is it with you people and my brothers?" Ginny cried. "It's just so horribly and terribly wrong."  
  
"Maggie Ferran," said the remaining woman, shaking Ginny's hand. "And I can assure you I have absolutely no designs on your brothers."  
  
"Well, unless you want to be trapped in this flat with the whole lot of them, you'd better be going. They'll be here any minute now."  
  
As if by cue, a crackling sound in the fireplace heralded Bill's arrival.  
  
"'lo Gin. Sure you're up to all this?"  
  
"I'm fine, Bill, really."  
  
Bill wasn't listening to her though. He was staring towards the door, where Glin was hastily pushing three women into the hall.  
  
"Sheridan? What're you doing here?"  
  
Law successfully skirted the door Glin was attempting to shut in her face. "It's actually Joanne," she told him sheepishly.  
  
"She's actually one of the commandos who saved Ginny," Glin explained. "It's all rather complicated. Actually, Joanne, why don't you explain it to Bill over dinner."  
  
"I-" Sheridan blushed.  
  
"Erm..." Bill said uncomfortably.  
  
"Oh, get out of here you crazy kids!" Glin said happily as she pushed Bill and the women out the door, shutting it and latching it firmly. She slumped against the door. "One brother down, four to go."  
  
"Five, if you count Harry," Ginny sighed unhappily.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Fifteen minutes later, the living room of Ginny's flat had become a limited seating area. Her parent's were sitting on the loveseat, looking horribly out of place among all the younger people. Fred and George were squished onto the couch with Angelina and Alicia. Ron had been forced into sitting in one of the armchairs by Glin, who was sitting on the arm of the chair, preventing Ron from getting up. Hermione had pinned Harry in the other armchair in much the same manner. Charlie was sitting on the coffee table, and Draco was skulking in the corner near the front door.  
  
"I've called you all here for a very important reason," Ginny told them. "I'm tired of being treated like a four year old."  
  
"Oh, Virginia," pooh-poohed her mother.  
  
"Don't 'oh, Virginia,' me. I've had quite enough of you all bulldozing me into doing what you want me to do. If I let anyone else treat me like this I'd go completely mad and never leave the flat and the only contact I'd have with anyone would be with the boy I hired to bring me my groceries. Now it's all well and good that you want whatever it is you think is best for me, but you're going to have to accept that I'm an adult, now. I don't have to take your advice if I don't want it."  
  
"Virginia, if you wanted to rail at me, you didn't have to bring the whole family into it," Molly said angrily.  
  
"It's not just you, Mum. It's the boys, too, being horrid to Draco just because of some silly school thing."  
  
"Serving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named isn't 'some silly school thing,' Gin." Ron argued, attempting to stand up, only to be pushed back into the chair by Glin.  
  
"I don't have to justify my choices to you, Ron," Ginny told him calmly.  
  
Glin cut in. "Yeah, Ron. Gin never made rude comments about you dating that dirty French-"  
  
"That was different, though," chimed in Fred. "Ron's a guy." Angelina promptly whacked him on the back of the head. "What?"  
  
"I hate to say it, but I can see where Fred's coming from," Harry told them. Hermione looked daggers at him. "All I'm saying is that Ginny's the baby, the little sister. It's natural for them to be over-protective of her."  
  
"Nicely put," George commented.  
  
Ginny looked at them in disbelief. "We're not going to have a debate over it! It's my life. I want to be with Draco, and I'm going to do exactly that. So treat him nicely, like you'd treat any of my boyfriends." She thought about this for a moment. "Strike that. Be civil. I'm tired. Get out of my flat!"  
  
"What?" Her family said collectively.  
  
"I think you heard her," barked Glin. "Put up, or shut up where Draco's concerned, and get out."  
  
  
  
  
  
A great deal of arguing later, Ginny and Draco were alone. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Ginny was the first to speak. "Where's Marigold? And where's Minnie?"  
  
"They're looking after one another in my hotel room. Amelia's spending the night with them."  
  
"Hotel room?"  
  
"The Aurors are cleaning the house out. Guess I don't need help with the Dark Arts stuff anymore," he smiled softly. "Did you mean what you said before, about wanting to be with me?"  
  
"I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't," she smiled.  
  
"Tired?" She was slumped to one side of the wheelchair, and her eyelids were drooping.  
  
"A little," she smiled apologetically. "I wanted to talk with you a bit before you left, though."  
  
"How about a hot bath first?"  
  
"That sounds wonderful," she sighed.  
  
  
  
  
  
When the water became cool, Draco lifted her out of the tub and wrapped her in her thick, terry-cloth bathrobe before carrying her off to bed. She rested her head on his shoulder, creating a wet spot on the shoulder of his robes. He laid her gently on the bed, and walked to the door.  
  
"Where're you going?" She asked, her hurt obvious.  
  
"To sleep on the couch. I can't sleep in the same bed as you, Gin. What if I rolled over or something?"  
  
"Oh," she said, her voice small. Could you maybe just sleep on the floor in here? I know it's stupid, I just like knowing you're close."  
  
"It's not stupid," he told her. "I like knowing you're close, too."  
  
She grinned idiotically while he made up a bed for himself on the floor next to the bed. He tucked her in, kissed her nose, and slipped into bed. She let her arm trail off the side of the bed, and he folded her small hand in his. He was almost asleep when something came to mind. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"  
  
She murmured something into her pillow.  
  
"I didn't quite catch that."  
  
"I said, I was listening the whole time. I heard what Marigold asked Missus Merriweather."  
  
He went deathly still. "Really?"  
  
"Really. And she would you know."  
  
"Who would what?" He asked cautiously.  
  
"She'd say yes."  



End file.
